


AU Prompt Fills (SFW Ones)

by ThisWasInevitable



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Airports, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Alternate Universe - Veterinarians, Bad Puns, Baking, Bartenders, Dates, Dating, F/F, Flirting, Fluff, House Hunting, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, Romance, Supervillains, TAZ-Amnesty, Texting the wrong number, prompt fills, rating is for language, the lightest of angsts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2020-04-06 06:33:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 27,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19057162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisWasInevitable/pseuds/ThisWasInevitable
Summary: A collection of prompt fills from Tumblr. Some are AUs, some took those prompts and set them in the Amnesty universe.Prompts from this list: https://veronicabunchwrites.tumblr.com/post/181843654255/over-100-prompts-below-organized-by-category-from . As of now they're still open.





	1. Da Bomb (Sternclay)

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt was: “ I made a dumb joke about someone’s butt being ‘da bomb’ and you’re the security officer interrogating me” for Sternclay

Barclay’s told some bad jokes in his time. This was the first one bad enough to land him in a jail.

Okay, so it’s not jail, it’s some security back-room at PDX, but it’s close enough.

One minute he’d made a comment to Jake about the guy in front of them’s butt being “da bomb” and the next he was being pulled aside for a “special screening.” He knows he’s big and sure as hell Not White, but this is ridiculous.

The door swings open and a man in a grey vest and slacks sits down across from him. Were he not terrified this was going to make them miss their flight (there’s no clock and they took his stuff to check it for explosives so he has no fucking clue what time it is) he’d be more appreciative of how hot the guy is, with his dark hair slicked back and a face that makes Barclay hot under the collar.

He’s holding Barclays wallet, looking at his I.D.

“Barclay Amnesty?”

“Yep, that’s me. And you are..”

“Lucky Stern. Can I ask your destination?”

“Colorado.”

The man scribbles something on a clipboard.

“Reason for trip?”

“Uh, recreation I guess? Taking my cousin snowboarding.”

“Sounds fun.”

“Should be, assuming we ever get there.”

The TSA agent gives a small huff, scribbles something else.

“Can you explain why you ended up here?”

“I already told the agent at the checkpoint it was a joke!”

“I’m aware, but I need to hear it from you in your own words.”

In his own words huh? Fine.

“We were standing in line, and the guy a little ways in front of us just had an ass like a peach. Like the kind that wouldn’t move if you smacked it.”

Agent Stern appears to be blushing. Cute.

“Anyway, I lean over to Jake and say ‘betcha that guy doesn’t get through security because his ass is da bomb. And then I’m here, having to repeat my sub-par pun to you.”

Stern blinks at him before snickering, which turns into a full-blown laugh that requires him to take of his glasses and wipe his eyes.

“Glad somebody liked it.” Barclay uncrosses his arms, pleased at how nice Stern looks when he smiles.

“It’s a spectacularly awful joke.” He chuckles one last time, slips his glasses back on.

“I’m a master.”

“But also I cannot believe that’s what they pulled you in for. I’m so sorry, really, I know they feel they have to vigilant but this is ridiculous. I’ll get your things returned to you, let’s see, the fastest way to your gate will be, oh dear.” He looks at Barclays boarding pass.

“Let me guess, our flight’s already left.”

“It’s finished boarding, and even you left your things here and ran you wouldn’t make it.”

“Fuck.”

“I’m so sorry. I will, well, I know a few of the folks at the Alaska Air desk, I’ll see if they can get you and your cousin on a flight that won’t be too much of a wait or too many stops. Oh, right, your things, excuse me.” He disappears and Barclay watches him go. His ass is better than the one that landed him here.

Aaaannd he’s just been caught staring. Lovely.

Stern returns a few minutes later with Barclays’ bag and some pieces of paper.

“Here, at least let the TSA buy you dinner and a drink for the trouble. These vouchers are good at the Bigfoot Bar and Grill.”

“Thanks.” Barclay takes them, puts them carefully in the bag.

“Here’s your wallet and ticket. Again, my sincerest apologies.” He ushers Barclay out the door, flashes one more apologetic smile after he leads him down a series of halls and back out into the terminal.

Jake’s waiting for him, unflappable even in the face of an extended wait in the airport and excited at the prospect of dinner.

They’re halfway through their meal when Barclays phone buzzes.

“Holy shit.”

“What’s up, dude?”

“We’re on the next flight out to Denver on Alaska, in about an hour and a half. And we’re first class.”

“Hell yeah!”

Barclay grins, slips his phone back into his pocket, dislodging his wallet in the process. It drops on the ground, and as he picks it up a piece of paper slips out. He unfolds it and finds a phone number along with a note.

_Buy you another ‘apology’ drink when you get back? Love to hear more of your terrible jokes._

_-Lucky_

Damn, this turned out better than he expected.

He’s still going to avoid explosive-based humor in the airport in the future. Just to be safe.


	2. Bunny, Kisses (Indruck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “you bring in a stray mama cat/dog/etc. and keep coming back in to check on their progress.”

It’s pouring outside as Duck sits behind the check-in counter at the vet. Half an hour before he can head home, and he’s dearly ready to eat leftover pizza and fall asleep after some of today’s adventures.

Fucking chihuahuas.

The door swings open and a figure in a rain jacket hurries through, holding a box.

“Excuse me, I found this rabbit and I don’t think she’s well At the very least I don’t think she belongs outside on her own.”

The person sets the box on the counter. Duck tries not to sigh too heavily; it’s spring and more than one person has brought in an wild cottontail thinking it was a lost baby rabbit.

“Uh huh, well, lemme take a look.”

He opens the box, finds a mid-sized white rabbit with black and brown spots on it. Definitely a stray.

“I assume she’s someone’s pet, but there’s no collar and there was no house or anything nearby…”

Duck looks up from the box, is met with red glasses half-covered by white hair. The man looking at him is definitely distinct looking, though Ducks hasn’t made up his mind if that’s cute or unnerving.

“Where’d you find her?”

“About a mile away from the westwinds trailer park, hiding under a bush.”

Duck carefully reaches into the box. The rabbit honks, but lets him lift it out.

“Well, one things for sure; she’s gonna be a mama.”

“She’s pregnant? Oh goodness, I’m glad I found her then.”

“We’ll check her over, see if she’s microchipped or if anyone in the area’s posted a rabbit missing that matches her description. Thanks for bringing her in mister…”

“Cold, Indrid Cold. Just happy to help.” He stands awkwardly for a moment before giving a small wave and departing back out into the storm.

——————————————-

Duck doesn’t see Indrid for a few days, and then he comes back during one of the biggest rushes they’ve had in weeks. Mercifully, he settles into a corner and sketches in a notebook (stepping outside once, not that Duck’s paying attention) and waits until things calm down.

“Hello again.” He smiles shyly at Duck.

“Checkin’ in on the bunny?”

“Yes, is she alright? Has she had her babies yet? Oh, here.” He hands Duck a white paper bag.

“It seemed like you might’ve skipped lunch what with all the commotion. So I brought you something from the food truck across the street.”

Duck inhales the familiar smell of Tikka Masala and is about ready to fall to his knees in gratitude.

“Thanks, man, that was awful nice.” He smiles and Indrid blushes, “Oh, uh, right, the rabbit. She was a little malnourished, but she’s getting better. Probably won’t have her kits for a week or two still. They oughta all be happy and healthy thanks to you.”

Indrid smiles, and this time Duck knows for sure what he thinks of his face: it’s stunning. Weird as fuck, but stunning.

————————————————–

Indrid becomes something of a fixture at the clinic, visiting Duck more days than not. He always comes under the guise of checking in on the rabbit, and to his credit he does seem genuinely interested in her well-being.

But he’s equally interested in Ducks. At least if the food he keeps bringing him is any indication. He and Duck chat when they can, and Duck learns that Indrid works the night shift at a 24 hour coffee stand, that he hates the cold weather, and that he’s single. He’s sweet and awkward and has given Duck the eye more than once.

So Duck cannot wait to tell him the good news.

Indrid walks in the door, smiling as soon as he sees Duck. Leans across the counter when he talks, Duck mirroring the gesture to bring them as close as is professional.

“We got baby buns.”

“Really!? Oh, that’s wonderful.” Indrid chirps

“And even better, we actually got a call from the folks who lost mama. Turns out her name is Buttercup and they were so relieved she was okay that they nearly started cryin’. So she’s goin’ home as soon as the little ones can be weaned, then the shelter will adopt ‘em out. Know Dani’s girlfriend’s already called dibs on one; got a name picked out and everything.”

Indrid makes another happy sound, and then his smile falters.

“I guess now there, uh, there won’t be any reason for me to come and check in on them.”

Duck reaches out, takes his hand.

“Naw, but wouldn’t mind if you kept checkin’ on me.” He rubs a thumb softly on the top of Indrids hand.

“I’d like that so much, Duck.”

He leans his head forward and Duck gets the hint, gives him a brief peck on the lips.

“Can’t do anythin’ more while I’m at work.” He whispers.

“Can I buy you coffee when you get off?”

“How about you let me buy this time?”

Indrid grins, gives him another quick kiss.

“Deal.”


	3. Home (Danbrey)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Full Prompt: “ I ask you to come look at houses with me and the real estate agent just gave a very convincing speech as to why this backyard would be a great place for a wedding.”

Okay, this is getting really weird.

This is like the third time the real estate agent has said some variation of, “this is a lovely spare room with lots of natural light. Could make a lovely office…or a nursery.” And given them a peculiar smile.

Maybe Aubrey should have specified that Dani was her friend, not her wife.

She’d asked Dani to come look at houses with her because Dani’s got a good eye for practical things like use of space and when someone is trying to cover up a mildew problem. Not to mention looking at her is like looking at ray of sun in spring garden, and exploring various houses gives Aubrey time to fantasize about how she and Dani could do certain R-Rated activities in different rooms.

They’re just friends. But if Dani ever decided she wanted to be more than that, Aubrey would be over the fucking moon.

After the real estate agents latest smile-tinted hint about a nursery, Aubrey turns to Dani with a shrug.

“I guess it could be Dr Harris Bonkers room?”

“As long as we triple proofed anything electrical, sure.” Dani smiles at her and Aubrey has a near-miss with the door frame.

This house is looking like the best candidate; it’s not horrendously overpriced, the location is good, and it has enough space for things like practicing her magic act or having friends over

(or having someone share it with her).

But it’s when they step into the backyard that Dani gives a shriek of delight. There are immense gardens, planter boxes begging to be filled, even the bones of a pond that could be up and running in no time.

“Ohmygosh, you could have a garden just for Dr Harris Bonkers! And one that’s nothing but black and red flowers.”

Dani continues to plot out the possibilities for gardening until the agent interrupts them.

“I’ll also note that this yard has ample space for all kinds of celebrations. Such as a backyard wedding. Plenty of shade, space many guests, even a built in way of getting your bouquets.”

Dani’s eyes widen and Aubrey inhales with a squeak.

“Uh, yeah, good point, uh, can you go do some realtor things so that we, I mean I, can buy this house?”

“You want to make an offer?”

“Yes! Please!”

The agent smiles and heads inside where the sellers and their realtor are waiting.

“Why the hell does she think we’re planning a wedding?” Aubrey’s voice is still dangerously high.

“Dunno, assuming we were a couple makes a certain amount of sense…” Dani snaps her fingers, “our rings!”

“What?” Aubrey looks at her hand and the fidget ring she’s taken to wearing, then at Dani’s, where a red solitaire (family heirloom) glints in the summer light.

“They’re on our left ring fingers, she must think they’re engagement rings.”

“Oh yeah, that makes sense.”

“Plus you keep holding my hand.”

“That’s for comfort, this is a big adult decision.”

“And constantly whispering to me and laughing.”

“Because you’re funny and sometimes this gets boring!”

“And staring at me.”

“That’s…oops.”

Dani takes her hand, rubs it soothingly.

“Something you want to ask me?”

Aubrey takes a deep breath.

“Would, would you like to go out with me? As, like, my girlfriend?”

“Nothing would make me happier.” Dani’s smile is brighter than the sun.

“Oh thank god”

“Why didn’t you ask sooner, fireblossom?”

“I was nervous that I’d make things weird.”

“This is us, and Kepler, we’re talking about. Things are always going to be weird.”

“True that.”

Aubrey shifts onto her tiptoes and kisses Dani softly. The blonde woman giggles, before bringing Aubrey into a dip and kissing her like she’s been dreaming of it for eons.

“Awwwwww.” The realtor is behind them when they stand up, both blushing.

“No shame, dears, young love is something to enjoy. And you two make a lovely couple.”

Aubrey loops her arm around Dani's waist as the other woman drapes an arm over her shoulders.

“Yeah, I think so too.”


	4. Give it a Shot (Indruck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Full Prompt: “ you’ve been complaining to me about your relationship woes for the last few months and decide that we should go on a date so I can tell you everything you do wrong (spoiler: it’s the best date I’ve ever been on) “

There’s a thunk on the wooden bar behind Indrid. Indrid knows who it is by the groan of frustration.

“Rough day, Duck?”

“Day was fine. Last night sucked.”

“Your date didn’t go well, I take it?” Indrid turns and slides Duck a beer, the same one he orders every night he’s here.

“When does it ever? God, ‘Drid, that makes ten bad dates in a month. And fifteen the month before that.”

“Any sense what killed this one?” He cleans glasses as he listens (Duck is only one of four people in the bar, he can spare some time to listen to his favorite regular).

“Dunno. Maybe I talked about trees too much? Or maybe the saw the trans flag pin on my jacket? Fuck it, maybe it’s just me. Wish I knew what I was doin’ wrong.”

Indrid hums thoughtfully, because he can’t think of anything to say. Duck is easy to talk to, funny, decent. The soft parts of his body make him look like he’d be excellent to cuddle, and the muscles in his arms suggest the right amount of strength to pin Indrid to a bed.

Indrid has thought about that. More than once. But he has a strict rule about flirting with clients at work. Besides, if Duck was interested in him that way, he would have said so by now in order to try and avoid another doomed date.

“Maybe you could get some feedback, perhaps from a dating advice blog or something. That way you could know if there’s something to do differently.”

“Yeah, feedback.” Duck sips his beer, then slams his hand on the bar excitedly, “Drid, you’re a fuckin’ genius!”

“Oh?”

“You should come with me on test date! Y’know, so you can see what I’m doin’ and tell me how I can improve. You got good taste, you’ll know if I’m fuckin’ somethin up.”

Indrid arches an eyebrow and the “taste” comment; he’s wearing a white tank top and jeans and his hair has been charitably called a rats-nest.

“C’mon, help a fella out?” Duck looks at him hopefully and he cannot say no to those mismatched puppy-dog eyes.

“I’d be happy to help. I’m free Friday, Jake picked up some of my shifts to make some extra money. My friend Barclay owns the Chicago Diner two blocks down, we should go there.”

“Ain’t that the place that’s all vegan stuff?”

“Vegan and also some of the best food in the city. And it’s got the best drinks in town.”

“Alright, I’m trustin’ you to not lead me astray.”

“I shall do my best.” Indrid grins, “would you like to meet there, here, somewhere else?”

“D’you live nearby?”

“About eight blocks from the diner. Why?”

Duck looks down, mumbles something.

“I didn’t quite catch that.”

“I’d like to, uh, to pick you up. Try to do that with dates who don’t live way out in the fuckin’ burbs.”

“I forget you’re a well-mannered southern boy sometimes.” He teases, stops when he notices Duck starting to blush, “and yes, I’d be more than happy to meet at my place and walk.”

“Great” Duck sighs with relief, “where and when time am I meetin’ you?”

——————————————

Indrid checks his reflection in the bathroom mirror; he doesn’t look half-bad, hair somewhat combed and and actual t-shirt in place of his usual tank-top. He pulls on his long black sweater, the one he looks best in. And then bundles himself in two more jackets and a scarf because of course it’s snowing in March.

He steps out of the entry hallway just as Duck approaches the front door. He’s in a puffy down jacket, hat pulled over his ears and the crooked smile he gives Indrid is the best thing he’s seen all day.

He offers Indrid his arm, “Shall we?”

They don’t talk much on the way to the diner, the roar of traffic and the desire to not let cold air down their lungs making conversation tricky. Once inside, the server leads them to farthest booth, the air warm and smelling of oil and spice, and they can finally unbundle themselves. Indrid orders spiked hot cocoa, and Duck has his usual beer.

“So, how was wo- what are you doing?” Indrid cocks his head as Duck takes a small notebook and a pen from the breast pocket of his shirt.

“Takin notes. That way if I do somethin’ wrong or that you think is hurtin’ my chances of a second date, I can write it down rather than tryin to remember it all later.”

“Hmm, clever, but why don’t you let me take the notes, that way you can focus on acting like this is a normal date.”

“Good call.” Duck slides the pen and paper over. They stare at each other for a beat.

“So, uh, you go any plans for the weekend?”

“Work, mostly. I thought about going to the park to draw, but not with this weather. Goodness I hate the cold.”

“Shit, how’d you end up here then?”

“It’s just where I landed, I suppose. I lived a very nomadic live when I was younger. What about you, any exciting plans?”

“Nah, might do a bit of housekeepin, maybe work on a new model ship” he winces, as if admitting that was a mistake.

“I’m impressed, I could never focus on one task long enough to complete something like that.”

“Oh, uh, thanks. Most fellas think it’s an old man hobby.” Duck scratches the back of his neck nervously, clearly caught off guard by Indrid’s complement.

“It is, but there’s nothing wrong with that if it’s something you enjoy. How’d you get started with it?”

“My grandad used to have me help with his. Dropped out of the habit of doin’ it when I hit my teen years, and then one day…”

——————————-

Alright, it’s not one of the better dates Indrid’s been on.

It’s the best.

Duck is the same as he is when they chat at the bar; charming, funny, tells a mean (albeit a bit winding) anecdote. Indrid’s mind generally flips and flits a thousand directions at once, but with Duck in front of him he finds there’s only one thing he wants to focus on.

They’ve finished dinner and are waiting on dessert when Duck laughs at something Indrid says and brushes his toe against the skinnier mans leg under the table. Indrid tries to keep his face neutral (Duck is just showing him how he does things during dates, and soft, flirtatious touches must be part of that and Indrid cannot, cannot read into it), but Duck clearly spies something crossing it. Because he repeats the motion, slower this time, talking casually as if nothing is happening. The touches become more frequent after that, hand brushing Indrid’s own on the table or staying a moment longer than normal on his arm when emphasizing a point. Indrid returns them, let’s his gaze linger on Ducks eyes or lips and makes sure Duck notices him doing so.

Eventually they have to leave the warmth of the restaurant and head back into the bitter spring wind. Duck once again offers his arm and Indrid takes it, nestling as close as he can to the larger man while still allowing them both to walk.

“Can we, uh, debrief?” Duck asks as they get back to Indrid’s apartment.

“Only if we do it inside, come along.” He fumbles the key into the lock (blasted gloves) and leads Duck to his place on the top floor (he loves the view and the fact that heat rises).

“Do want anything to drink while we talk? Coffee, tea, I think I still have some nog.”

“It ain’t gone bad yet?”

“No.” He lies.

Duck pats the couch next to him and Indrid sits down.

“So, how’d I do. Can I see the notes?”

Indrid hands him the notebook, trying to think of a response to the inevitable question.

“Wait, you didn’t write anythin'?”

He shakes his head.

“No, I didn’t.”

Duck looks confused, even hurt.

“It’s not because I didn’t want to help you, Duck. It’s because I couldn’t find anything to write. I haven’t enjoyed myself this much on a date in years. I don’t know what’s happening with the other guys you’ve gone out with, but what I do know is that I wish it had been me instead of them on every one of those dates, just so I could have spent more time with you.”

Duck considers him for a moment, worrying his lower lip.

“There’s on thing I ain’t shown you. Ain’t done it on all the dates, just a few that seemed promisin’. Can I try it on you?”

“Of course.” Indrid nods, leans forward to better hear whatever Duck says next.

Duck leans forward too, and tentatively presses his lips against Indrids. Indrid gasps, then kisses him back, bumps their noses together when Duck pulls away for a breath before diving back in. Duck makes a low, pleased sound and Indrid can’t help it, brings his hands into that dark hair as strong, warm fingers grip his hips.

“‘Drid.” He whispers against his mouth, a prayer and a plea and that does it, Indrid needs to be closer, tries to climb into his lap just as Duck tries to adjust on the couch, sending them tipping backwards. He lands on Duck with an soft “oof”, breaking the kiss to laugh against as shoulder as the other man giggles against his cheek.

“That, uh, that ain’t happened any of the other times.” He strokes the strands of pale hair back behind Indrids ears, “guess I hadn’t found the right person to try it on.”

“Guess not.” Indrid kisses his neck once, playfully.

“Can I take you out again?”

Indrid raises up on his elbow, speechless for a moment at the sight of the happy, handsome man beneath him. But then he remembers he ought to answer the question.

“Nothing would make me happier.”


	5. Fireworks (Indruck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I talk about you so much, that when I introduced you to my coworkers, they mentioned how excited they are to finally meet my partner.

It’s summer in Kepler, and time for the annual 4th of July picnic for county and state employees. Duck always enjoys the picnic, usually brings along Jane or a friend. But Jane is still gone, most of his friends are away on vacation, Aubrey is off on a getaway with Dani, and Ned is working the Cryptonomica.

Which is how Duck settles on the idea of bringing Indrid with him. The seer has said he wants to spend more time around other people, and is more willing to go outside now that it’s summer. Not to mention Duck loves being around Indrid; sure the guy is a bit weird, but he’s good-natured and interesting to talk to, doesn’t mind when Duck talks about trees for twenty minutes.

When he pulls up to the campground, Indrid is already waiting for him outside the Winnebago, hops into the car and flashes Duck his usual wide smile. He looks less messy than usual, and is wearing a bright blue tank top in place of his standard white one.

“Excited?” He asks as he turns back towards the main road.

“Very. The futures show a high number of sweet drinks present at the picnic. And I’ll get to spend the day with you, one of my favorite pastimes.”

Duck smiles back at him and Indrid squeezes his knee fondly. Odd, the Sylph isn’t normally that demonstrative.

They find a spot near Greenbriar Park, not too far from the picnic area, and Indrid helps Duck carry the two immense dishes of potato salad he made (his moms’ recipe). As they’re setting them on the table, Juno sets a plate of Ambrosia salad on the other side.

“Hey, Duck.”

“Howdy Juno. Oh, uh, this is -”

“Indrid” Juno smiles, holds out a hand that Indrid shakes, “seen you once or twice at the ranger station, nice to finally meet you.”

“Likewise, and I am very glad you did not die in that crash a few months ago.”

“Uh, thanks? So, Duck says you’re an artist?”

“In a way, I find it helps me understand the world better. Though I suppose if I stay in Kepler much longer I ought to look into more stable employment.”

“Good to keep busy. Then again, he’s always had a soft spot for takin’ care of folks.” Juno glaces Duck’s way with a smirk before excusing herself to go talk to someone else. She can’t be implying what Duck thinks she is. Can she?

“Let’s go grab some grub.”

“Sounds lovely. Incoming.”

“Wha-ACK!” A stream of water catches him on the neck, Indrid stepping behind him for cover. Two shrieks of laughter come from the pair of girls looking up at him and he smiles.

“Now, now, Lark and Robin, ain’t sportin’ to sneak up on a fella when he’s unarmed.”

“Sorry mister Duck.” They say in unison.

“What did I tell y’all about usin’ those squirt guns here? Oh, hey Duck.” Pigeon steps behind her nieces, giving them a scolding look.

“Hey Pigeon, no harm done, felt kinda refreshin’. Dove’s workin’ today?”

“Yep, big sis can’t close the restaurant on a day with such heavy traffic, so I’m watchin’ the girls. Hey, Indrid.” She waves and Indrid returns the gesture, before kneeling down and asking to see one of the squirt guns, which Robin enthusiastically hands him.

“A fascinating device.” He examines it for a moment before spritzing Robin, who shrieks with delight.

“Never had a super soaker growin up?” Pigeon asks.

“No, I did not.” He squirts Duck without looking, making the others laugh (including Duck).

“You still livin’ at Eastwood?”

“Yes, why?”

“Dunno, thought this one mighta gotten a U-Haul and moved you in from the way he’s been talkin about you.”

“Is that so?” Indrid arches an eyebrow at him and Duck blushes, tries to stammer out an explanation.

“Oooooh, mister Duck has a cruUUuush” Lark singsongs, Robin joining in as Pigeon covers her mouth to stifle a laugh.

“I, uh, I, gotta go get some food.” He waves goodbye and books it towards the tables, Indrid following him after returning the squirt gun.

“I’m glad you’ve only been telling people nice things about me.” He picks up a plate, begins loading it with everything from the dessert table.

“Instead of?”

“That I’m a harbinger of doom, or an unsettling urban legend, or a weirdo who lives in a trailer Oooh! Fruit punch.” He dumps red liquid into a cup, heads over to an empty table.

Duck shakes his head as he finishes filling his plate. Why is everyone assuming they’re dating? Sure, he talks about Indrid, but he talks about lots of people.Not that he hasn’t thought about dating Indrid; he’s just happy being friends and doesn’t want to make things weird by asking him out. He’s so lost in thought that when someone murmurs, “nice catch” and tilts their head in Indrids direction he nods without thinking about it.

By the time he gets to the table, his supervisor is sitting across from Indird, chatting amicably about how excited he is to meet Ducks partner. What strikes Duck this time is that when the man mentions the tree health project Duck is working on, Indrid perks up and begins offering his thoughts on the project, following the thread of it (which causes most people’s eyes to glaze over) perfectly. Which means he’s been listening to Duck when he rambles on about it.

“….I even checked something out of the library to help me understand the ecosystem health better so I could grasp the scope of the undertaking.”

Oh, Jesus, he’s been doing extra reading do he can talk about the things that are important to Duck. The fondness that spikes in his chest at that is far from platonic.

The next hour is a study in realization for Duck. Specifically, the realization that he does talk about Indrid a lot, and that many people in town have already formed positive opinions of the taller man and of his relationship with Duck. Worryingly, their opinions on the relationship are accurate; Indrid does make Duck happy, Duck does look after him, Duck does gaze at him dreamily when he’s talking. It’s the part where they’re not dating that everyone seems to be missing.

They’re walking down in the shade along the river, catching a break from all the noise and movement, and settle for awhile on a rock.

“Thank you for bringing me Duck.”

“Don’t mention it. Nice to have the company.”

“I like getting to meet all the people you’ve been telling me about over the past few months.”

A pause, watching the river flow by.

“How long ago did you start telling them we were dating?”

“I, uh, I didn’t. They all just assumed we were.”

“Oh. I see.” Indrid looks down at his hands, picks at his shirt. He sounds disappointed.

“I mean, we ain’t datin and I can’t lie, so they all must’ve jumped to the same conclusion.”

“Indeed.” Indrid is still looking down, lips pursed.

Duck shifts closer, holds his hand out on the rock between them.

“We ain’t datin’. But I ain’t opposed to that changin’.”

“Really?” Indrid looks up, eyes hopeful behind his glasses.

“I’m real fond of you, Indrid. If you wanna give bein’ boyfriends a go, I’m all for it.”

Cold fingers find his own, and then Indrid leans in and kisses him, and he knows they’ll skip the fireworks tonight because nothing could compare to the ones bursting in his chest at the feel of Indrids lips on his.

“Duck Newton, will you be my boyfriend?” Indrid whispers.

“I like the sound of that somethin’ fierce, Indrid. Besides, seem’s like everyone already knows you’re the fella for me.”


	6. ...And They Were Roommates (Danbrey)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you answered my craigslist ad and I tell you the apartment’s yours based on how attractive you are (bonus if my friends call me an idiot)"

Dani groans in frustration, crosses out another name on the list in front of her.

“Cheer up bro, we’ll find a new roomie.” Jake, one of her current roommates, pats her reassuringly on the shoulder.

“Yeah, maybe we even find one in the next century. That’s ten already that are nos.” Dani taps her pen against the pad of paper. They (her and her roommates Jake and Barclay) have been looking for a new roommate for three weeks, and they can’t find anyone who matches the feel of the house or doesn’t seem like they want to wear their skin as a suit.

There’s a knock at the door and Barclay heads over to answer it. It’s their last potential roommate of the day.

“Hi, I’m Aubrey Little! And this is Dr Harris Bonkers, PhD. We’re here about the craigslist ad for the room for rent.”

“C’mon in, I’m Barclay, this is Jake”

“S’up!”

“And this is Dani.” Barclay gestures to her just as she gets her first look at Aubrey. Her dark hair is styled up retro with streaks of orange and red, a spray of freckles covers her skin, and she’s wearing a jean vest coated in pins. She’s beautiful.

She catches Dani staring and her expression turns shy, she dips her head to hide a smile against the fur of the large white rabbit in her arms.

“The room is hers.” Dani says, earning her a surprised look from Jake and a raised eyebrow from Barclay before he switches back to host mode.

“Here, Aubrey, go ahead and have a seat. Can I grab you a drink?”

“Coffee if that’s okay, and some water for Dr. Harris Bonkers.” She sits down on the couch next to Dani, begins bouncing her knee nervously.

“So, uh, what do you do, Aubrey?”

“I’m a magician.”

“Dude, that’s awesome!” Jake yells before Dani can say anything, “Can you saw me in half?”

“Uh, no.”

“Can you saw Barclay in half?”

“Hey!”

Aubrey laughs and Dani has a new favorite sound.

“I do lots of old school tricks, sleight of hand and things like that, but my specialty is…” she snaps her fingers and fire shoots from her hand.

“Being hot?” Dani asks before slapping her clipboard against her mouth.

“Fire magic.” Aubrey grins at her, sets the rabbit on the floor so he can drink from the dish Barclay brought.

“Is Dr Harris Bonkers, PhD, part of you act?” She scoots half an inch closer under the guise of looking at the rabbit.

“He is! And thank you for using his full title. He worked hard for that PhD.”

“Can I ask your approach to housecleaning?” Barclay gives Dani a small, knowing smile, the kind that makes her feel like he’s her dad.

“Uh, I can be kind of messy? I want to pitch in and help but I can space out on tasks sometimes so it helps if there’s like a chore chart or something.”

“We got one dude, it’s even color coded.” Jake sits on the floor, begins petting Dr.Harris Bonkers.

“Any food allergies or dietary restrictions?” Dani skips the question about if Aubrey is comfortable around LGBT people, since the rainbow flag, bi pride, and trans rights now pins on her jacket provide the answer.

“I’m vegan.”

“Me too!” She’s the perfect woman, Dani has found the perfect woman, this is the best day ever.

“How about I show you the room so you can see if you like it? Jake can watch Dr. Harris Bonkers.”

“Sure!” Aubrey hops off the couch and follows Dani up the stairs, chatting all the while. By the time they’ve reached the room Dani’s learned that Aubrey loves swimming and used to travel a lot but is in Kepler to help run her aunt’s hotel. She seems pleased with the room and listens as Dani explains the general layout of the house.

“….And my room is across from this one.”

“Good to know, in case I get lonely.” Aubrey seems to be getting more confident, winks at her.

“I really like this place, Dani. You all seem cool, and I can tell Dr. Harris Bonkers approves. And, uh, I’d really like to live here and get to know you better. Especially you.” She says that last part so quietly that Dani’s not sure it was supposed to be said out loud.

“I’d really like that Aubrey.” She takes her hand and squeezes it, feels a blush on her cheeks.

“Come on, I need to talk with the others to make sure we’re on the same page.”

When they get downstairs, they find both Barclay and Jake on the floor with the rabbit, Barclay feeding it carrot tops.

“I’m gonna go ahead and assume we have new roommates, yeah?” The larger man says without looking up.

“Woohoo!” Jake throws his arms in the air.

“I guess that settles it. Do you have time to stay and deal with the lease?”

“I, wait what time is it? Oh crap, I have a show at the hotel in fifteen minutes.”

“Come have coffee with me when you’re done? I’ll bring a lease any some other stuff to help you figure out your move.”

Aubrey’s grin is a sunburst, a sunflower, the best thing Dani has ever seen.

“I’d love to.”


	7. Laundry Day (Indruck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we’re doing laundry together, ranting about our days, when you kiss me against the dryer”

Duck has had A Day, and all he wants is to come home and collapse, ideally with Indrid curled up on top of or beside him (he’ll also take curling up on top of his Sylph form). But when he gets to the apartment, he finds Indrid halfway down the stairs, heading for the laundry room.

“Hello, before you ask, I am completely out of clean clothes, you’re nearly out of the same, and Winnie knocked an entire pitcher of kool-aid onto the bed.” He nearly overbalances as he says this, and Duck grabs one of the hampers from him to keep him from toppling down the stairs.

So much for a relaxing evening.

When they get to the laundry room Indrid groans in frustration as he turns the knob.

“They’re down to one machine again.”

Duck sorts the laundry as Indrid starts the first load. It’s clear the Sylph has had a bad day.

“…….And then I was watching old episodes of some cryptid show on your laptop and guess what they had the gall to blame on me this time?”

“What?”

“A Tsunami. A TSUNAMI, Duck, a natural phenomenon, the kind that literally no being can control. Honestly, it’s bad enough to be blamed for things I was around for, but I was on the other side of the planet for that one.”

“I’m sorry darlin.” Duck kneels in front of one of the broken washers to see if he can get it running.

“Then I spent an hour on hold trying to get through to the county seat of some town in Missouri to warn them about a flood and then they HUNG UP ON ME. I know I must sound out of my mind to people but you’d think they’d at least want to check the levees.”

Indrid takes a deep breath in, exhales.

“Anyway, how was your day?”

“Shitty.”

“Oh dear. Camper troubles?”

“Among other things. Bunch of folks on vacation ignorin’ the rules about alcohol, fires, and _guns_ for cryin’ out loud. And one insistin’ I go out and shoot the bear that trashed their car because they left two full coolers of food in it instead of puttin’ it in a bear box like they’re supposed to.” He smacks a frustrated hand on the machine. It kicks to life and he takes a moment to feel satisfied before stuffing it full of stained bedding.

“Then I had to chase some kids off who were spray paintin the trees and they ended up sprayin somethin on my car instead. I mean, I was a dirtbag, I get it, but why the fuck would you spray paint a tree? Who are you givin’ the middle finger too? Nature? The squirrels.”

“Just tell them if they’re not respectful of the natural world, Mothman will eat them.”

“Ain’t allowed to threaten guests, Especially not with bein’ eaten by my boyfriend.” Duck grumbles. Then he huffs out a laugh.

“Jesus, doin’ laundry is the least unpleasant thing I’ve done all day.”

“I agree.” Indrid says, leaning against the dryer. Then he glances at Duck with a smile, “perhaps it’s because it’s the only part of my day when I’ve seen you.” He flutters his eyelashes behind his glasses and Duck laughs, the stress of the day draining from him as he does.

“Real smooth, Mr. Cold.” Duck smiles, crosses to Indrid and boxes him in against the machine.

“I have my momentsUMPH!” Duck presses their lips together as Indrid wraps his arms around his shoulders. The shorter man drags his lips down Indrids neck before kissing him again, this time deep and long enough that Indrid moans.

“Leo is going to be here in thirty seconds to do his laundry. He may prefer to do so without us making out on top of the dryer.”

Duck steps back, but not before kissing Indrid on the cheek.

“Fair enough. But once we’re done in here, darlin’, I got business with you in the bedroom.”

Indrid grins.

“That’s the first thing I’ve looked forward to all day.”


	8. Bake me Away (Indruck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “baking in the kitchen and having a flour war, laughing, and kissing”

“Flour?”

“Check”

“Frosting in red, pink, purple, green, orange, and black?”

“Check.”

“ And lastly: Fire extinguisher?”

“Check.” Indrid plunks the small device on the counter, smiles at Duck fondly, “you’re taking your commitment to preventing forest fires very seriously.”

“It’s kitchen fires that worry me.”

“We’re not that bad in the kitchen.” Indrid finishes tying on his apron, helps Duck tie his in the back. Duck pecks him on the cheek, grabs a mixing bowl.

“Still don’t know why Dani asked us to do this instead of Barclay.”

“I’d wager it’s because Barclay is doing the rest of the food for the Saturday Night Dead marathon.” Indrid reads through the directions in the cookbook, preheats the oven. There’s a few minutes of them simply moving around each other in the small kitchen, the sounds of Hank Williams warbling from the stereo in the other room (that Duck’s CD collection consists mainly of Goth-rock, punk rock, metal, and classic country is something Indrid finds endlessly entertaining).

“You ever made cupcakes?” Duck takes the offered measuring cup from Indrid.

“No. I didn’t do much cooking in Sylvain, and my life once I came to earth didn’t allow for much of it either.”

“Maybe we oughta start bakin’ once a week, see if we can learn together. That way you can start makin’ things to satisfy that sweet tooth of yours.”

“I’d like that.” Indrid hands Duck the eggs, starts lining the cupcake tins they borrowed from Barclay before passing them to Duck to be filled.

“I like cooking with you” he adds, softly, “it feels so…homey. Like I’m right where I belong.”

“‘Cause you are.” Duck pauses filling the tins, takes Indrids hand and pulls him in for a kiss.

“Got some flour on your glasses there, handsome.” He notes when they break apart.

“Oh dear, let me just-”

“Wait your-”

Indrid takes off his glasses to wipe them on a towel, meaning his Sylph form is suddenly in the kitchen, wings and all. Wings that catch the bag of flour at just the right angle to knock it to the floor, sending a cloud of white into the air that gets on both of them.

“Oops.”

“Yeah, ‘ooops’, you goofus.” Duck smiles, not terribly worried about the mess as he flicks flour off his hands onto his boyfriend. Indrid squeaks, tries to use his wings for cover but only succeeds in in kicking up a new cloud of flour onto Duck.

“Sorry!” He’s laughing, antennae trembling with glee as Duck chucks more flour at him. Duck takes aim again but Indrid slips his glasses back on, now a smaller target so the flour goes right past him. He ducks, scoops up a handful and catches the ranger squarely in the chest.

“Oh that’s how you wanna play huh?” He takes a fistful and dumps it on Indrids head before tackling him onto the ground. The human is giggling so hard Indrid checks the future to make sure he doesn’t pass out from laughter, lets out a shriek of it himself when Duck smears flour across his face.

Eventually the come to a stop, Indrid still shaking with laughter atop Ducks chest. He kisses him, not caring in the slightest that he gets flour in his mouth.

“We should probably shower.” Duck mumbles against his lips.

“Put the cupcakes in the oven and make out with me first?”

Duck kisses him again before slipping the tin in the oven and then rejoining his flour-dusted, happy boyfriend on the floor.


	9. Playing Games (Sternclay)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: our friend signs us up for a Newly Weds Game even though we’re not dating (bonus if they’re not friends, but know each other well enough to win anyway)

Barclay paces back and forth in the greenroom, as Stern bites his hangnails in worry. 

He’s going to kill Ned for this. 

This being the fact that he and Stern are waiting to participate in an episode of the Newlywed Game. He didn’t even know they still made the Newlywed Game.

The main problem, other than Barclay not enjoying the thought of being on camera, is that he and Stern aren’t newlyweds. 

They’re not even dating. 

They’re acquaintances. They met at a board game night in a local bar. Barclay came with his friend Duck (the instigator of said night), and Stern was eventually brought by his niece, Aubrey (also Barclays friend), after moving to town. 

Stern is nerdy, buttoned-up, a bit aloof, though whenever he sits next to Barclay (something Aubrey keeps engineering) he murmurs sly comments and jokes that always make the bigger man snicker. His dark hair is always slicked back, his clothing immaculate. He works for the FBI, in the UP division, but will never talk about work no matter how much the others press. But he will talk to Barclay about other things, like baking or movies or modern trends neither of them quite grasp. 

And then Ned fucking Chicane had to go and sign them up for this as a joke and things escalated from their, as they so often do with Ned. 

“We could go out the window, perhaps. Or fake coronary troubles.” Stern muses. 

“Tempting, but at this point we oughta just grin and bear it. Maybe we’ll win something.”

“I appreciate the optimism, Barclay, but we barely know each other. No, I fear, this will be a bit awkward for us and make us look like the worst newlyweds in the universe.”

“Maybe they won’t be able to use it.”

“Why?”

“Dunno, half the time people take photos or videos of me I come out blurry.”

**Round One**

Barclay sits on stage, the cheerful host about to ask him five questions. Or, rather, they’re going to ask Stern and Barclays answers have to match his.

“Let’s start you out easy: what’s your favorite color?”

Okay, he can do this, what color does Stern usually wear?

Black. Because he’s often in his work suit. 

No, hang on, his ties, they’re almost always…

He scribbles down “blue.” Holds up his board.  
Stern arches an eyebrow, flips his to reveal, in his neat handwriting, “blue.”

“Alright! Question two: Lucky, how would you describe Barclays cooking? Is it spot on? Or does he need some cooking classes.”

Barclay huffs, write down what’s obviously the correct answer, “spot on.”

Stern flips his around with a smile. It reads the same. Obviously, because Barclay runs a damn catering business. 

Question three asks where Stern would travel if he could go anywhere. 

Shit, okay, what does Stern like? Where would he go to see that. Oh, he knows.

“To washington to look for bigfoot? Oddly specific, Barclay, let’s see how you did.”

Stern arches an eyebrow, smiling, reveals his sign says the same. 

Question four (“which of his relatives is Lucky least fond of?”) is the first he gets wrong, writing “great aunt” instead of “great uncle.”

“To finish out the round, Lucky, what would you say your husband loves the most about you?”

Barclay finds himself writing without thinking, listing off the thing he likes best about Stern.

“His inquisitive mind. How deep. Lucky?”

Sterns board reads, “my mind,” earning them more points. 

As they wait for round two, Stern smiles at him.

“I’d like to try your cooking for myself some day.”

“Think I can manage that.”

A beat of silence.

“I’m flattered to know you agree my mind is my best trait.”

“Your eyes are a close second.”

Stern looks at him befuddled, and Barclay laughs, sheepishly, “uh, sorry, was just, uh, joking.”

Except, he realizes as they take the stage again, he was not.

**Round Two**

The roles are reversed, the questions directed at Barclay and Stern trying to match his answers.

“First up! The last time you gave Lucky flowers, were they roses, carnations, or something else? Or will he say you’ve never given him flowers?”

Zinnias. He’d bring Stern Zinnias, because they’re bright and proud just like he is. 

“Oooh, looks like we have a disagreement folks. He says you’ve never brought him flowers.”

Stern gives him a confused look, and Barclay realizes he was expecting him to give the honest answer, rather than what he would do. 

“Next: which one of you most organized.”

Easy.

“Him” Barclay writes. 

“Me.”

“That’s more points on the board! What was your first job, Barclay?”

Ugh. He was a gorilla mascot for a car dealership.

“Gorilla mascot. How about that folks!”

Wait, Stern knew that? 

“Barclay, what’s the one thing you wish Lucky spent a little less time on to focus on you.”

Barclay thinks about Sterns odd schedule, his devotion to his work, the times he’s gone out of town without notice.

“Work.”

“My work.” Stern looks down when he holds up his board, almost like he’s ashamed. 

“Maybe need to take the nose from the grindstone and spend some quality time with your hubby, Lucky! Finally, Barclay, who kissed who first?”  
Jesus. Okay, hypothetically, if he were to ask Stern on a date or two, would he make the first move? He usually doesn’t. And Stern seems like he’s confident enough in reading people that he’d go for it.

“He kissed me”

“I kissed him first (he’s shy).”

“Well done! You’re on track for some serious prizes. Right after these messages.”

They’re ahead of the other two couples by a little and have already won a dyson vaccuum (Stern calls dibs) and a Le Cruset set (Barclay can’t believe his luck, those things are expensive).

“How’d you know about the gorilla thing?”

“I recall you and Duck comparing worst first jobs and you talked about getting heat stroke in it.”

He takes a sip of water,

“How did you know what killed my last two relationships?”

“Oh shit, really?”

“Yes.” Stern says flatly.

“I, uh, I thought about how you’re such an ambitious, dedicated guy and how weird you’ve said your hours can be. Seemed like that could make dating tricky.”

“You have no idea.”

“I mean, I was a chef for years, which had some weird fucking hours. Besides, you deserve a guy who’ll appreciate you even when you have to work overtime. Or go to New Mexico for the weekend.” He smiles down at Stern, feels something catch in his chest when their eyes meet. Stern looks down, pink dusting his cheeks.

“Zinnias?”

“Seemed like you might like them.” Barclay can’t say why, feels his cheeks burning just at the thought. 

“I do. I love bright flowers. I spend so much time in sterile, bland rooms, it makes me appreciate the color in the natural world.”  
“I could bring you some from my garden. It’s irises right now, mostly.”

“I’d like that, very much.” He takes Barclays hand and squeezes it in thanks.

Barclay tries to ignore the butterflies bursting loose in his stomach. 

**Round Three**

The lightening round. All Barclay has to do is guess how Stern answered seven either/or questions. He gets through the first four just fine, correctly guessing that Stern prefers chips over candy, books over movies, cold over hot, and morning over evening

“Here’s a bit of a naughty one! Missionary or doggy-style?”

Yeah, this isn’t something they’ve chatted about. Lucky strikes him as someone who likes romance, likes feeling close and wanted and cared for in a way that suggests he prefers things with eye-contact.

“Missionary?”

“Don’t sound too sure there, Barclay, but you’re right!”

Number six is easier (how could it not be) and number seven is only a little harder.

“A fancy night out or a cozy night in?”

He thinks about Lucky, the way he seems to always be around people for work, sighs wistfully whenever Duck talks about a lazy weekend at home, seems excited when he has no obligations.

“Cozy night in.”

“Correct!”

Lucky whoops in delight from off camera and then joins Barclay. 

“You’ve racked up the most points, which means you’re the winners!” 

The audience cheers and begins making whistling, woo-ing calls.

“They expect us to kiss” Lucky whispers with a grin. 

“Hold tight.”  
“Excuse meeeeahumph!” He dips Lucky into a kiss, which the shorter man reciprocates, feels him laughing as he does, his whole body lighting up with joy as he deepens the kiss.

“Whoah there, lovebirds, save it for the the second honeymoon! Jim, tell them where they’ll be going...”

\-----------------

They just make it back to the car before bursting into hysterical laughter.

“Ned is going to be speechless!”

“That I’d like to see.” Lucky smiles at him from the passenger seat, their prizes safely stowed in the trunk. Well, all but one of them.

“Bit of an odd choice for a second honeymoon, Seattle. I’d assumed they’d pick somewhere with broader appeal, like Hawaii.”

“Hey, you’ll get to look for Bigfoot!” Barclay shoves him playfully on the shoulder.

“Me? I, uh, assumed you would take it. The food scene is supposed to be excellent”

“Nah, you should, you need a vacation.”

Lucky looks at him, thoughtfully.

“Or we could go together, as is the intent.”

“You’d really be okay with that?”

“Yes. I, well, I like you very much Barclay. I think a little trip together could be quite enjoyable.”

“I can go for that. On one condition.”

Stern raises his eyebrows, clearly not sure what’s coming next. 

“You gotta let me take you on a few dates before our ‘honeymoon.’”

Stern relaxes with a smile, leans forward and pecks Barclay gently on the lips. 

"That sounds delightful."

“Cozy night in? With me this Friday?”

“I’d like nothing better.” Lucky settles as close as he can, rests his head on Barclays shoulder

“I’m cooking?” He asks with a smile, already planning what to make. Stern kisses his nose. 

“Right again.”


	10. Wrong Number (Sternclay)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: you drunkenly text the wrong number and I’m enjoying your lame jokes so much I keep replying to you

Sterns phone dings, and he fumbles for it in the dark of his room, wondering who on earth could be texting him at this hour.

_Unknown: Hey, hey, Jake, why did the bicycle fall over?_

Stern stares at his phone, befuddled. That’s not his name. 

_Unknown: Because it was 2 tired!_

He snorts. What a terrible pun.

_Unknown: Why can’t ghosts have babies?_

This time Stern decides to play along. What the hell, he’s already awake.

_L. Stern: Why?_

_Unknown: Because they have a Halloweenie!_

Stern’s guessing he meant “hollow” instead of “hallow” and that whoever is texting him is more than a little drunk. 

_L. Stern: That was terrible_

_Unknown: I know, right?_

_Unknown: Want another?_

_L. Stern: Please_

_Unknown: How do squids go into battle?_

_L. Stern: Do tell._

_Unknown: Well armed_

Stern, groggy and exhausted from a long day of frustrating work, laughs aloud in his bedroom. A noise he realizes he doesn’t often make. 

_L.Stern: LOL, as they say._

_Unknown: :D. K, I’m gonna go to bed. Night, buddy._

_L. Stern: Goodnight._

Well. That was an odd, late night diversion. As he curls back up and drifts off to sleep, he wonders if the person on the other end will ever realize their error.

\---------------------------

“...And I texted a bunch of bad jokes! Ugh, this is so fucking embarrassing.” Barclay looks at his text history with the number that he could have sworn was Jake’s that he contacted at 2 am.

“There are worse things to drunk text a stranger.” His housemate Dani pats his shoulder before pouring herself some coffee. 

“Why didn’t they tell me to fuck off?”

“Maybe they liked the jokes?” 

Barclay shakes his head, that can’t be it. But he has no plans to find out, because he is never texting that number again. 

\-----------------------------

_Unknown: What do sea monsters eat?_

Fish, perhaps seals, Stern thinks before realizing this is the set up to a joke. At least his mystery texter is only contacting him at midnight this time. 

_L. Stern: What?_

_Unknown: Fish and ships._

_Unknown: Get it? Like fish and chips._

_L. Stern: That was bad even for you_

_Unknown: Taking that as compliment._

_L. Stern: My turn._

_L. Stern: What did the alien say to the measuring cup?_

_Unknown: No idea_

_L. Stern: Take me to your litre._

_Unknown: LOLLOL That was good. You’re like super good at this._

_Unknown: K, my turn again….._

\-------------------------------------

As he’s doing his Sunday crossword, Sterns phone dings.

_Mystery Jokester: Hey, sorry about the last two nights. I’d had a bit too much to drink and I guess I texted you instead of my friend._

_L. Stern: Thank you for the apology. I must confess, your awful jokes offered such much needed levity to my week._

_Mystery Jokester: Glad I could help? Sort of assumed you’d be pissed I kept waking you up._

_L. Stern: You only woke me up once. I’m a night owl on weekends. I sense you are as well._

_Mystery Jokester: Yeah, gotta do it while I can, my ass has to be up at 4 am on weekdays._

_L. Stern: What do you do?_

_Mystery Jokester: I’m a baker_

Stern stares at his phone. He has questions, but he’s a little unsure the person on the other end wants to keep talking.

_Mystery Jokester: ...Wanna hear a real bad joke._

_L. Stern: Please._

\-----------------------------------------

_L. Stern: What do you get when you cross a Kangaroo with an alien?_

It’s a long-shot, but he’s so bored and his number is still twenty away from being called. 

_Mystery Jokester: What?_

_L.Stern: A Mars-upial_

_Mystery Jokester: Nice. Are all your jokes alien based?_

_L. Stern: No….some are also cryptid based._

_Mystery Jokester: I honestly have no clue if you’re joking_

_L. Stern: I fear I may not be_

_Mystery Jokester: Nerd ;). So, what’s the occasion for bad joke texting me in the middle of the day?_

Stern contemplates his answer. He should probably leave out the part where he has very few non-work or non-family contacts on his phone to chat with when he’s bored. 

_L. Stern: I’m trapped in the DMV and wanted to torment someone with my sense of humor. Plus I enjoyed our last conversation._

_Mystery Jokester: Happy to be tormented. Guess I should’ve said this sooner, but my name is Barclay BTW._

_L. Stern: Nice to meet you, Barclay. I’m Lucky._

\--------------------------------

Barclay is lounging in bed, texting his new friend. It’s been about three weeks since his first bad joke laden drunk text, and he and Lucky have been gradually branching out from bad puns to more complex topics. He’s learned that Lucky is a special agent with the FBI, that he’s new in town, and that he loves old monster movies. 

_Special Agent: The upshot is, the X-Files greatly over represented the harm capabilities of the Chupacabra._

_You: Good to know._

_You: Hey, this may be weird, and you can totally say no, but can I see what you look like?_

He’s been curious for the better part of a week, running through various ways the man on the other end of the line might look. When his phone buzzes, he’s met with a picture that’s obviously a newly-taken selfie that makes his heart skip a beat. The man in it has short dark hair, clearly tousled from a shower, blue eyes and handsome, angular face. He looks pretty tall. Wait, is he wearing-

_You: Are those bigfoot pajamas?_

_Special Agent: Yes. What, you’ve never seen a grown man in cryptid-themed sleepwear?_

_You: Can’t say I have. Looks good on you._

Lucky doesn’t respond right away and he worries that last comment was too far.

_Special agent: Alright, since you’ve seen me, you have to show me what you look like as well._

_You: Might be tricky, not exactly dressed for a selfie. Hang on._

There’s no way he’s gambling on sending Lucky a picture of him in his boxers. Not yet anyway. He flips through his phone until he finds a photo with him in it that isn’t blurry and hits send.

\-----------------

Stern looks that photo he received.

_Barclay: I’m the one in the back, in plaid shirt._

No wonder the man doesn’t take selfies, he wouldn’t fit in the frame. He’s Big. Probably taller than Stern, which is no mean feat, shaggy dark hair and a well trimmed beard adding to his appeal. He wrenches his eyes from Barclay long enough to notice the rest of the photo.

_L. Stern: You look very nice. Who is the young lady with the rabbit?_

_Barclay: Aubrey, friend of mine. Rabbit is Dr. Harris Bonkers, PhD, guy next to them is Jake. Guy next to me is Duck._

_L. Stern: Boyfriend?_

_Barclay: No, just a good friend._

Stern is moments away from asking if Barclay would maybe, perhaps, at some point be interested in a date. But then.

_Barclay: Ho shit, got late. I gotta hit the hay if I don’t want to fall asleep in the mixer tomorrow. Night, blue eyes._

_L. Stern: Goodnight Barclay._

Stern sets his alarm, lays back with a sigh. He can’t fall asleep, feels too wound up. Well, he knows a way to take the edge off. 

He shuts his eyes, pictures the face from the photo, and slips a hand beneath his waistband.

\-----------------------------

_Barclay: Hey, are you busy this weekend?_

_L. Stern: No, why?_

_Barclay: I have a pair of tickets to that new Godzilla movie. Jake and I were gonna go but he’s laid up after a skateboarding incident._

_L. Stern: Barclay, are you asking me on a date?_

_Barlcay:......_

_Barclay: Yes._

_L. Stern: I’d be delighted._

_Barclay: The Cinemark on F street, 6:30 tomorrow?_

_L.Stern: Roger that._

_Barclay: See you then, blue eyes._


	11. A Call for Help (Sternclay)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: you misdial at a telephone booth and ask in a very upset voice if I can pick you up, and I don’t know why, but I ask where you are so I can pick you up”

Barclay blinks awake to the ring of the phone, eyes the clock. It’s 2 am and he panics, assumes Mama, or Aubrey, or Duck or someone is in a fix.

“H’lo?”

“This is Agent Stern, I’m at coordinates” there’s a buzz of static, though Barclay just manages to jot down the numbers the man says, “I’m, it’s, oh god, the car, the car is busted and the target is definitely here and I need help, I need-”

There’s a howl on the other end of the line in the distance and the man gasps, and Barclay is already pulling on his clothes.

“Stay put, okay? I’ll come get you. Look for the pick-up.”

“Pick-up? Wait, shit, shitshit, you’re a civilian, I dialed-it doesn’t matter, do not come it’s too dange-”

Barclay clicks the phone off, plugs the coordinates into the map app. Just as he’d feared, he recognizes the name of where they’re sending him: Bray Road

—————-

He barrels away from the city and down county roads, hurling curses at his past self.

See, there’s this gate to another world, located near Devils Lake. Some who come through it, like Barclay, have been cast off from their home. Others are not so friendly, are bloodthirsty and dangerous. Barclay and Mama, along with a few other individuals, make sure that second group are destroyed.

But sometimes they make mistakes. Sometimes, he misses tracks, and they can’t find a creature until it’s too late, until it can break the initial radius from the gate and roam free.

Sometimes, an abomination becomes an urban legend. That doesn’t make it any less of a threat.

He’s on Bray Road, and up ahead he sees a car pulled to the side. There’s no lights, no sign of anyone even in the damn thing. 

Once he parks the truck, he approaches the car, flashlight in hand. Surveys the front, which looks like it hit something very, very large. And then he yelps, throws up his hands when someone pops up from behind it, weapon drawn.

“…Oh for the love of, I told you not to come!” The figures arms drop to its sides.

“You’re welcome.” Barclay deadpans, “But I guess if you’ve got another ride coming…”

“No, but I’ll, it’s OW!” Barclay aims the flashlight at the man, Sterns, face, making him flinch. He lowers the beam to stop blinding him, takes in his face: dark hair, sharp cheekbones, brown eyes. He looks familiar. And he looks scared.

He should be.

“Look, you woke me up and are clearly in some kind of trouble. So how about you get in the truck so we can get the hell out of this spooky field?”

Stern opens his mouth to argue when there’s a rustling in the distance and, under it, a growl. Barclay is this close to hauling him over his shoulder and chucking him into the truck when he reaches into the car, grabs a small black bag, and jerks his head towards the vehicle. Just as they get in and Barclay starts the engine, the cornstalks in front of the dead car shake. Stern sucks in his breath and Barclay prepares to drive like a demon.

A deer emerges, investigates the car, and they both exhale as Barclay turns back towards the city. When he glances in the rear-view mirror, the deer is on the ground. And something with red eyes is looking back at him.

He really hopes Stern didn’t see that.

They drive in silence.

“Thank you.” Stern says softly.

“You’re welcome.” Barclay says, meaning it this time. “What were you doing out here this late?”

“I was on a stakeout looking for a cryptid. It found me and I, well, I wasn’t prepared. It totaled the front of the car when it leapt out of the dark. I bought myself time firing on it but…” He shudders.

“I called you because I thought you were another agent staying in town.”

“Hey, not the first time someones hit the wrong number.” Barclay doesn’t like seeing people upset, tries to switch from fight or flight mode into something more comforting.

“But it was saved in my phone. I don’t know why. I meant to hit the number above it. Then again, when I did call the right person they said I’d spooked myself. Which is something I’ve heard before but, well, it is more distressing when one is trapped in the dark miles from help.”

“Glad you misdialed, then.” Barclay smiles softly, relaxes as the lights of the city come into view, “where are you staying?”

“The Amnesty Lodge.”

“So that’s why you look familiar.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m the cook there.”

“Oh. I, uh, come to the restaurant quite often. It’s exquisite. Some of the best food in the city.”

Barclay puffs up a bit at that, flashes a bigger smile his passengers way and his heart skips a beat; Stern is looking at him almost shyly, features much more charming now that they’re no longer laced with fear and annoyance.

Then Stern groans, thunks a hand against his forehead.

“Lord, I saved the number for the restaurant in my phone so I could call for reservations when I needed to. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s no big deal. A friend of mine likes to fuck with me by rerouting that number sometimes. And like I said, I’m glad you called so you weren’t stuck out there with god-knows-what.”

“You believe in the beast too?”

“No” he lies “but there are still coyotes and such, and those suckers can do damage if they’re pissed.”

“My car wasn’t attacked by a coyote.” Stern says, unamused.

“Not saying it was. Just that there are lots of things out here that can hurt a guy.”

Stern doesn’t say anything else, and Barclay finds himself searching from something to talk about that doesn’t force him to lie the entire time.

“You ever heard of the Hodag?”

“One of the great american hoaxes.”

“Oh yeah? How do you know?”

Stern looks prepared to argue or defend himself until he realizes that Barclay genuinely wants an answer and isn’t teasing him. Relaxes into his seat.

“Well, since you ask…”

—————————–

Should Barclay be worried that he wants to befriend this FBI agent who could very well discover the secrets he and Mama work so hard to hide? Yes

Should he also be worried that said FBI agent is sound asleep on his bed, having forgotten his room key in the abandoned car only to fall asleep while Barclay procured a new one? Also yes.

But he looks so peaceful, and a little adorable. Barclay sits on the edge of the bed, toes off his shoes.

He’ll just lay down while he sets his alarm, then wake Stern up.

His eyes snap open sometime later when an intense pressure encircles his chest. He panics until he looks over his shoulder to see Stern had curled up around him during the night. The pressure is because the man is twitching in his sleep, making distressed sounds. Then he gasps, sits up, panting and wide-eyed.

“Hey, Stern, it’s okay. You’re at the hotel, you’re safe.” He scoots in front of Stern, places his hands lightly on his shoulders to ground him. He half expects the man to pull away, but instead he collapses forward, head resting on Barclays shoulder as he gulps down shaky breaths.

“No abom-I mean scary dog thing is gonna get you here.” He draws Stern closer and the other man is nearly in his lap. If he minds the proximity, he doesn’t show it.

“W-wasn’t that. Run in with, with a lake monster up north. Almost got me. No one believes me, even though I have the scar to prove it no one believes, they never believe-” He wraps his arms around Barclay, clings to him.

“I believe you.” Barclay whispers and something in Stern uncoils and his muscles no longer feel like they’ll snap under Barclays hands. For a few minutes he simply strokes his back and hair, the intimacy of the gesture feeling somehow right.

“I apologize, I don’t believe comforting guests is in your job description.”

“Don’t mind it in the slightest in your case.”

“It’s funny, I pride myself on my professional caution and paranoia but” he looks at Barclay, “but I find you remarkably easy to trust.”

“I have that effect on people.”

Stern smirks.

“Do they all end up in your bed having night terrors?”

“Nope, just the ones who need somewhere real safe to stay.”

A beat of perfect silence.

“May I stay? The rest of the night I mean.”

“Of course. Lemme at least change into pajamas.”

By the time he does, Stern is once again out cold. Though perhaps not all the way, since when Barclay lays down he immediately rolls on his side and curls his arms around one of Barclays.

Should Barclay be worried about this? Probably. There are so many things to worry about, after all.

Does he care about that right now, as he brushes a stray dark hair from Sterns forehead.

Not one bit.


	12. Cleaning Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reader requested: we're friends because we know each other at the laundromat and I'm not sure how to take it further indruck AU

It starts with a quarter.

“Excuse me?”

The man on the opposite side of the row of washers is wearing red glasses, reflecting Ducks face back at himself. 

“Do you have a spare quarter? I’m one short.”

“Uhhh, yeah, here.” Duck digs one coin out of his pocket, holds it out. The stranger makes a rather balletic extension to pluck it from his fingers. Then ruins the effect by dropping it on the floor, a little “oh dear” fluttering through the air as he disappears from view. 

Duck goes back to loading his sheets in, starts the machine and settles on a bench.

“Thank you.” The stranger smiles at him from the next bench over.

“No problem, man.” Duck takes out his phone, pulling up the Edward Abbey book he’s been reading.

A shiny foil rectangle enters his periphery.

“Poptart? I have lots.”

“Sure, thanks.” Duck takes the packet with a smile, returns to his book as the stranger pulls out a sketchpad.

Duck doesn’t give the incident much thought beyond that.

But a week later, the stranger is there again. He gives Duck a pleasant, perfunctory nod before going back to his sketches. They don’t speak until Duck is pulling out his whites.

“Fuck.” He murmurs, looking at the still-present stain from where Winnie whacked his wine glass over.

“Here” the stranger is next to him again, holding out a spot-treatment pen.

“Thanks. Damn, you came prepared.” 

“I drink many beverages that have bright-colored dye in them and am not always the most aware of my surroundings. Stains are the predictable outcome.”

“Had cats most of my life, think I woulda learned the same thing.”

“Oooh! Is it cute?”

“Depends on your definition.” Duck opens his phone, flips to a picture and shows it to the man, who makes a high-pitched noise.

“She’s bald! Oh, how charming.”

“I think so, but some people think she’s real freaky lookin.”

“I rather feel her pain there.” The stranger murmurs, then smiles at Duck, “I’m Indrid, by the way.”

“Duck. Nice to meet you. And thanks for bailin me out.”

“Likewise.”

\----------------------------------------------------------

They see each other every week, Duck because he’s at the point of his life where Friday night is laundry night, and Indrid because Friday nights are when the laundromat is calmest.

At first Duck isn’t sure if Indrid wants to keep talking with him. After all, the guy said he does his laundry late to avoid the noise and clamor of other people. But Indrid always starts a conversation.

“My, that’s a lot of khaki.”

“I’m a ranger over at Mackericcher, comes with the territory.”

“Really, what’s it like?”

Or

“Want some?”

“Are those...gushers?”

“Yes, my absolute favorite.”

“Sure, I’ll take a few.”

Soon, Duck is the one starting the conversations

“Wanna see a picture of a cool tree?”

“Of course!”

And

“Hey, stopped by the mini-mart on my way here. You like the caramel coffee, right?”

“Thank you!” This was accompanied by a shyer than normal smile.

Soon they’re taking turns bringing snacks, then Duck escalates by bringing in a deck of cards and a whole pizza to share. 

And he starts figuring that hey, another ten minutes in the dryer could be nice for his clothes, and maybe he’ll pair off his socks in the laundromat rather than waiting to do it at home. Right around the time he starts doing this, Indrid starts folding his laundry at the mat rather than shoving it all in a bag.

Then the night of the storm comes. 

They’re playing poker, using the bag of Jolly Ranchers Indrid brought as chips, when thunder shakes the windows.

“Damn” Duck folds, starts shuffling the deck as Indrid drags a pile of candy over to his side of the rickety table, “gonna be a wild night.”

“Indeed. I’m just glad this is a 24-hour laundromat.”

Duck raises an eyebrow and Indrid sighs, “I walked here. I didn’t think the rain would start until later. I may be here awhile.”

“Could give you ride home, if you want.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, room for both of us and our stuff in my car.”

Which is how, fifteen minutes later, Duck is steering through the downpour towards the east end of town.

“I meant to ask: if, if I were to, uh, camp at the park for a night or two, might you be willing to show me around?”

“Sure, might have to do it off-shift if we’re busy, but it’d be fun to show you all the places I keep yammerin about. Didn’t take you for the campin type.”

“I sort of am, well, it’ll all become clear in a moment. Take this next right.”

The turn brings them into a trailer park, and Indrid navigates them to a Winnebago that’s seen better days. 

“Here I am: home sweet home.”

“Holy shit, my grandparents had a ‘Bago like that. I used to love ridin in it.”

“Well then, I’ll have to give you a ride sometime.” Indrid smiles. Duck giggles at the double meaning just as Indrid’s eyes widen.

“I, uh, I mean, you could come inside sometime and we could drive somewhere, get off, I MEAN, get out of town.”

“Sounds good. You need a hand?” He asks just as Indrid pulls his laundry bag from the back seat, hugging it in front of him like a shield. Duck suspects it’s less about keeping Duck away and more about keeping himself under control, a blush rising on those angular cheeks as he comes down from being flustered.

“No, I’m fine. Thank you again for the ride.”

“Anytime. And ‘Drid?” The other man pauses, hand on the door, to look back at him and Duck notes a worrying flutter of butterflies in his stomach, “Lemme know about the campin. I’d, uh, I’d love to show you a good time.”

Indrid flashes a playful smile and then he’s out of the car, leaving Duck alone with his thoughts, some of which stay with him all the way home and into bed. 

\--------------------------

“Honey?”

“Yes? Oh, uh, yes, thank you.” Indrid takes the offered tub, stirring some into his tea. They’re seated by a campfire, waves crashing in the distance, making s’mores and waiting for the stars to appear. 

Duck has been testing the waters since he knocked on the Winnebagos door, emboldened by the increase in small, friendly touches between them over the last month of laundry nights (and the fact Indrid's double-entendres had moved from accidental and blush-covered to deliberate and ldelivered with lots of eye-contact). He’d held Indrids hands longer than strictly necessary when helping him along the tidepools, giddy delight flashing through him when Indrid asked him to identify the creatures they found and then got excited at the answers. When the wind picked up, he’d loaned Indrid his jacket, which is still sitting on the thinner mans shoulders as he inches closer after every marshmallow he roasts. 

Even if his nerve fails him, the day has solidified something for Duck; he has a raging crush on his laundromat buddy. He’d worried that maybe Indrids strange charm, the easy conversation between them, the pull he feels towards the other man, might only last the course of an hour or two. 

Now he knows for sure that worry was misplaced. 

“Here, try this one, I made it with those caramel-filled chocolate squares.” 

“I’d love to but..” Indrid holds up his hands, each already occupied with a s’more. 

“C’mere, sugar-fiend.” 

Indrid scoots closer, opens his mouth obediently so Duck can put the edge of the s’more into it. He bites down, eyes closed in pleasure. When he opens them, they lock eyes. 

Duck darts forward, kissing him. Indrid “mphs” in surprise, trying to return the kiss without smearing Duck with melted sugar. 

Ducks heart is a hummingbird when they break apart. Indrid sets his dessert aside, then grabs Ducks face to pull him in for a much harder, hungrier kiss.

“Inside, please, let’s go inside.”

“I gotta put the fire out first.”

“Oh, to hell with it.” Indrid climbs into his lap, fingers tangling in his hair, Duck using his (who is he kidding, it’s Indrids jacket now) to hold him tight. 

“I’m gonna make such a mess of you.” He growls, biting Indrids ear as he squirms eagerly against him with a moan.

“You like that?”

“Uhhhmmmmm.”

“Gonna make you sweat, sugar, gonna make you come so many times the sheets’ll be ruined.”

Indrid giggles, pulls back to fix him with a devilish grin, “Not to worry; I happen to know of a laundromat that has everything I could ever need.”


	13. Run Away With Me (Moschicane)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Moschicane week on Tumblr. The prompt was roadtrip/travel so of course I had to have them running from the law. The lyrics at the beinning, and some details of the scene, are taken from Waylon Jennings, Live! by the Mountain Goats, which gives me major Moschicane vibes.

_Drunk at the Meskwaki casino_

_Right where God intended me to be_

Ned Chicane lays on his back against the seen-better-days bedspread. The air conditioning hums uselessly as he stares up at the map he’s pinned to the ceiling (he thinks better like this, it’s like being under a car, looking at the pieces as they fit together). Far below, somewhere in the adjoining casino, the twang of a guitar curls through the smoky air.

He has no interest in gambling (as Boyd points out, if they wanted money from the place there are ways of acquiring with far better odds of success), only made it through one drink before the smoke of the restaurant made him long for the stale air of the room. He doesn’t mind the smell of smoke, not when it’s attached to familiar skin or drifting off a borrowed piece of clothing.

There are tell-tale footsteps at the door and he doesn’t even look up when Boyd enters. He knows it’s him.

“Never understood why you lot decided it was worth coming out here. Dusty, god-forsaken place, the midwest”

Weight on the bed, a thunk as sturdy shoes are tossed somewhere in the room.

“Are you referring to Americans as a whole, or to me, specifically?”

“The first one. Know bloody well why you’re here.”

“Come now, would you have passed up a chance to steal an Oscar?” Ned turns to look at Boyd, still perched on the edge of the bed. The taller man regards him with a steely gaze before a smile cracks across his face.

“From that smug bastard? Not a chance.” He falls onto his back beside Ned. Their hands find one another without needing to look. It’s too hot to touch more than that.

“Still, would’ve preferred it not lead us fleeing cross-country like a pair of cowards.”

“Speak for yourself, Boyd, I’m a coward and shall remain such until I die. Live to rob another day, and all that.”

Boyd barks out a laugh. Scoots close enough to touch shoulders

“Any thoughts?” He points a finger up at the map.

“Not as of yet. I don’t suppose your investigation of the border proved fruitful?”

“Don’t laugh, but our best chance is just to gamble on the passports and go for it. Sure we could try to sneak through, but I don’t like our odds.”

“I see…” Ned chews a nail, considers the map.

“Or we could cut our losses, settle down in Iowa, and remake ourselves as respectable members of society.”

There’s a beat after Boyd says this where they look at each other. Then they burst out laughing.

“That’s rich, my friend, quite rich.” Ned wipes a tear from under his eye.

“Yeah, just like we woulda been if we’d stolen something from that bugger that wasn’t an impossible to fence award. Lord, who’da thought he had the pull to send half the fucking police after us. Or that you’d get the Lincoln caught on a camera trap.” There’s no power behind the jab, instead it’s almost fond, as if Boyd truly doesn’t mind running half-way across the country with him in a rented car.

“My poor, faithful, Lincoln, it must be so lonely at that garage.”

Boyd pats his hand.

“There, there love, we’ll go back for the old girl soon enough.”

Silence, then, but for the whirring of the A/C and Boyd clicking a lighter.

“You’re not much of a coward, you know that right?”

Ned turns to see Boyd, now resting against the headboard, looking at him with something dangerously close to sincerity.

“I beg your pardon, my cowardice is legendary.”

“Coward woulda been panicked finding me robbing-”

“-burglarizing”

“Whatever, the same house he was. Wouldn’t have been decent and gentlemanly like you were. And sure as hell wouldn’t have bothered helping me over that fence. Woulda saved his own hide and nothing else.”

“Maybe I’m only brave when it comes to you.” Ned says softly.

They’re no longer bordering on sincerity, they’re drowning in it, and Boyd seems to realize that at the same time he does.

“Coward wouldn’t turn his back on me long enough to let me fuck him, that’s for damn sure.” Boyds grin is as crooked as he is and Ned scoots up to sit next to him just so he can kiss it.

“Point is, love, I can’t bring myself to be too bothered by our current predicament.” He pulls Ned into his arms, neither of them caring about the heat anymore as they regard the map together.

“We come up with a plan, we always do. Find a way to fix things just how we need them to be.”

Ned looks at the man beside him, the warmth in his chest more pleasant than the one in the air.

“You know, Boyd, I do believe you’re right.”


	14. Start Your Engines (Moschicane)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Prompt for this day of Moschiane Week was: Historical/Retro. And I couldn’t pass up the chance to write Greaser!Boyd. So, have some Moshchicane in the 1950s.

Being a professional thief lends one certain additional senses: the sense that tells you when something feels a little too easy, the sense that tells you something is about to go to hell, and the sense that tells you when you’re being watched.

It’s that third sense that’s tingling as Ned leans over the engine of the Thunderbird. She’s a beauty, his pride and joy (one of the only things he’s ever bought rather than stolen), and since the shop is slow today he’s taking time to tend to her every need.

He flicks a gaze behind him as he grabs a wrench. The eyes on him are courtesy of the rather intimidating fellow in the leather jacket. He’s dressed like a greaser, but strikes Ned as a bit old for that lifestyle. He’d come in asking for repairs on his Triumph, watched Kirby like a hawk as he looked it over. But his gaze soon drifted over to Ned, and has been more or less stuck there.

Ned’s been around the block more than a few times. He knows when someone is giving him the eye. He’d give it right back if he wasn’t occupied with the car. Still, he lets his white shirt ride up when he leans back over the hood. May as well let his new admirer enjoy the view.

“Er, Mr…”

“Mosche, kid. What’s the word?” British. Interesting.

“The engine needs a major overhaul, which means we’ll need to keep it here a day or two.”

“Damn. Well, guess I’m stuck in this dump for a few days while you fix her. Any idea how much it’s gonna run me?”

Kirby, clearly a bit nervous from the mans scowl looks over at Ned.

“Unfortunately, my friend, engine repairs cost a pretty penny. It’ll be at minimum two hundred.” He towels the grease off his hands as he speaks.

The man fixes Ned with a grin that’s bordering on a sneer.

“Not so bad. I can come up with the cash, easy.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He spies the tattoo on the mans forearm, “and I do believe I can offer a discount to those who did their time in the queens army.”

A barked laugh.

“Be the first time it did something for me. I’ll check in on the old girl tomorrow. I’m Boyd, if that matters”

He extends a hand and Ned shakes it, “Ned Chicane, at your service.”

Being a thief for years gives you many extra senses, helps you notice things others might miss.

Like the fact the handsome customer is one hundred percent casing your store and is going to break in to it that night.

Which is why Ned is now sitting in the corner watching the safe. It’s no trouble, the shop is right next to his house.

The faintest sound from the side door. A lock clicking open.

If Ned wasn’t listening for them, he’d have never heard the footsteps. He’s impressed.

“Evening, Mr. Mosche.”

The figure in the doorway freezes, before flicking the light on and leaning against the frame.

“Well, I’ll be, You’re smarter than you look, Chicane.”

“Why, thank you.” Ned’s never been one to pass up a compliment, backhanded or no.

“Dare I ask how you knew?”

“I overheard the questions you asked my assistant. Nothing odd, but with very specific aims. I also caught you taking in certain details of my shop. When you weren’t looking at me, that is.”

Mosche grins, crooked and charming.

“Weren’t aiming for subtle with that. Can’t fault me for appreciating a nice view.”

Ned’s cheeks heat up.

“No finer sight than a bloke who knows his way around an engine.” He moves towards Ned, who snaps out of it long enough to remember why they’re in this room after hours.

“Flattering sentiments aside, you still tried to steal from my shop.”

“And what are you planning to do about that?”

“If you press your luck, I shall alert the authorities.” He tilts his chin up so he can level the taller man with a stern glare.

“Oh _shall_ you? And what would you say if I explained to the coppers that a long-missed diamond necklace is in the chandelier in your living room, there’s a stash of money that is surely not yours behind that,” he points to a painting behind which there is, indeed, a safe, “and that your closet has a false door containing more who-knows-what kind of missing items.”

“How-”

“I cased your house too, not just the shop.”

Ned’s mouth is dry.

“Gotta pay to fix my old girl somehow.”

“I see. Are you expecting me to just step aside and let you run off with my hard earned wealth?”

Mosche hesitates, though now he’s no more than an arms length away.

“I’ve no interest in making you move, if that’s what you mean. I’ll trade blows if I’ve no other option to get out of a tight spot, but it’s not my preferred approach.”

Ned doesn’t give an inch.

“Perhaps we can make a …. Mutually beneficial arrangement?” Mosche murmurs

“What do you have in mind?”

“There are a few things I’ve an eye to steal in this chunk of the state, but I could use a second man. And you clearly are a master at what you do; that necklace is a bloody impressive get.”

Ned considers the offer; his fingers have been itching lately.

“Or you could let me have that cherry sitting in the garage.”

“You don’t mean the mustang” Ned whispers. It belongs to a friend who will kill him if he lets any harm befall it.

“What else? Only thing in this place that could be called a ‘cherry’, yeah?” His hands brace on the wall on either side of Ned, and he can smell smoke and leather and he’s feeling increasingly willing to let the other man have whatever he wants.

“My dear friend, are you insinuating I am experienced in the pleasures of the flesh?”

“Yeah, love, I am.” The pet name drips from his mouth like honey.

“Mosche-”

“-Boyd, please, let’s at least be on a first name basis if we’re going to be” he licks his lips “partners.”

“Is this a robbery, or a seduction?”

Before Boyd can answer, there’s an urgent knock on the door. Boyd stays statue-still as Ned goes to answer it. He’s displeased to find a policeman waiting for him.

“Evening Mr. Chicane. We had a neighbor of yours call in to report a prowler around your place. Could we take a look around the premises?”

“Was this supposed prowler described as tall and dressed in black?”

“Why, yes, he was.”

“I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding. A friend of mine is visiting, and I didn’t hear him arrive so he had to roam about a bit before he got my attention.”

“Oh” the officer looks perplexed “I see. Uh, you’re sure you don’t want us to look the place over?”

“No need, my friend, no need. But thank you so much for your concern.”

He shuts the door.

“Chose not to rat me out?” Boyd is waiting for him in the hallway, sans jacket. His arms are muscled, covered in tattoos and Ned has to restrain himself from running his fingers over them.

“Just when things were getting interesting? Not a chance. Honestly, the residents of this neighborhood can be so nosy. Makes me nervous.”

Boyd is now in front of him, that same crooked grin on his face.

“What, don’t tell me you don’t long for a piece of peaceful American prosperity? Nice, quiet life with a little wifey waiting for you at the end of a long day?” He teases and Ned laughs at the image of him as a fully respectable nine to fiver.

“No, no I do not. Which is why I am accepting your offer of partnership.”

Boyd gives a satisfied nod, as if he always knew that’s what the answer would be.

“Now you have to answer my query.” He inhales sharply as Boyd hooks a finger under his chin to tilt his head up.

“Started as a robbery. But as soon as I saw you had me figured for what I was, knew it was gonna turn into a seduction right quick.”

He kisses Ned once, demanding and full of potential, before pulling back to smile at him again.

“Like I said; could never resist a bloke who knows his way around an engine.”


	15. A Sympathetic Ear (Indruck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I found a list of "difficult situations for the villain who is in love with the hero" prompts, and someone requested the following:
> 
> #6: their (the hero) mentor just died (of natural causes don’t look at me like that). If I went to the funeral out of costume would they recognize me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, Leo.

Indrid sees the obituary as he’s reading through the tiny, local paper, eggnog latte in one hand a plate of poptarts before him (his metabolism has been odd ever since he got his super powers).

_Leo Tarkesian (1954-2020), passed away in his sleep. Mr. Tarkesian was a beloved figure of the Midtown Kepler community. He was dedicated to keeping the charm and friendliness of the town alive._

“And dedicated to being a pain in my ass.” Indrid grumbles.

_A small funeral service will be held at Green Hills Cemetery, followed by a celebration of his life at the house of his long-time friend, Duck Newton._

The date and time follows, but Indrid keeps looking back at that name: Duck Newton. Or, as he’s known to Indrid, the Green Knight, superhero and thorn in his side.

Indrid moved to Kepler because it was a small enough city that he assumed there would be no heroes to get in the way of his villainy. Or, what everyone insists is his villainy: the disasters linked to his name were never his fault. 

The thievery, art heists, and blackmailing of a few (corrupt) local politicians he takes full credit for. 

Leo, AKA Lionheart, was mostly retired until Indrid appeared, at which point he took on a protege in the form of Duck Newton. Along with their friend Minerva (AKA Blue Thunder) they defended Kepler as “The Chosen Squad.”

In truth, Indrid does not bear Duck as much ill will as he should. And most of it is currently coming from the black eye he’s nursing, the result of his last fight with the hero. The man is noble, even as heroes go, never more aggressive than he needs to be, and (annoyingly) rather charming at times. 

Then there’s the fact that Indrids powers of future sight have shown him glimpses of Duck’s daily life (those same powers are why he knows his foes’ secret identities, but they have no idea about his). A mild mannered park ranger, a good friend, a bachelor who talks to his cat in extremely funny voices. 

He flips through timelines until he lands on what Duck Newton will likely be doing today. In each one, the hero looks worn, and when he wipes his eyes or his voice goes rough, Indrid turns his minds-eye away. Even obnoxious do-gooders deserve privacy.

Would it be strange for him to visit the funeral and offer his condolences? He’s fairly certain his secret identity would stay that way. 

No, it would be ridiculous. Leo was well-liked, and no doubt Duck will have plenty of support. There’s no need for Indrid to put his identity at risk just to say “I’m sorry.”

—————————-

Indrid stands at the back of the clump of black-clad bodies. He found a black suit jacket buried in his closet, but no slacks, so he had to opt for the nicest black jeans he could locate. To be extra safe, he’s removed his trademark red glasses. He dislikes how exposed he feels without them. 

The ceremony is indeed brief, Duck giving a short eulogy as the casket lowers into the ground.

Indrid waits, letting others speak with Duck in hushed, sad tones. Looks around the cemetery as he does; it’s peaceful, full of flower beds and stone benches, not overly manicured. It might be a nice place to come draw one of these days. 

When next he glances back at the headstone, Duck is nowhere to be seen. He must have left for his house already.

Indrid tries not to be too disappointed, turns back towards his car. He’s nearly there when something black catches his eye through a clump of tangled rosebushes. 

Duck Newton, alone on a bench, with the bearing of a man trying and failing to get himself together. 

Indrid steps through the archway into the little grassy circle, at the center of which sits a fountain, barely bubbling. 

“Tissue?” He produces a small packet of them from his pocket. A villain must be prepared for everything, after all. 

“Oh, uh, thanks, uh.” Duck looks at him just long enough for Indrid to start worrying. Then he reaches for a tissue and wipes his eyes. 

“You, uh, a friend of Leo’s?”

“Not really. But I went to his store regularly, and he was always very kind. It seemed only right to pay my respects.”

(It’s not a lie. Indrid’s loft is on the same block as Tarkesian’s General Store. So what if they were enemies, sometimes you run out of milk). 

“That’s, uh, that’s real kind.” Duck keeps his eyes on the ground, and Indrid sits down beside him.

“You are the one hosting the celebration of life, right?”

“Yeah. Guess I oughta head over there, since it’s technically my house. But Minerva already went ahead with the first group of guests, and I trust her and…and well, I needed a moment of not havin to run things.”

“Quite understandable. I will leave you in peace. And I am sorry.” 

“You don’t, uh, fuck, I wasn’t tryin to be rude, fuck-”

“It’s alright” Indrid holds up his hand to stop Duck continuing, “You are allowed to grieve as you need to.”

Duck looks at him again, this time more deliberately taking in his features, “Do we know each other? You seem real familiar.”

“I imagine we’ve passed each other on occasion. Kepler is small as cities go. Although I don’t get out often. I embody the reclusive artist stereotype too well at times.”

“You paint?”

“I draw, mostly.” He’s about to stand when Duck leans forward.

“Shit, someone got you good.”

“Beg pardon?”

“Your eye.” Duck taps underneath his own right eye, indicating the bruise. 

Cursing himself for his oversight (his glasses normally cover the mark), he blurts out the first explanation that comes to mind, “It was the Mothman, the supervillain, I ran into him in a, uh, dark alley, and there was a fight.”

Duck frowns, “Thought he knew better than to go after random bystanders. Uh, fuck, that is, he honestly don’t strike me as the mean type. Just self-centered and hurt. Uh, that, fuck, that is ah, from what, fuck I’ve read?”

Indrid ignores the terrible lie, clears his throat, “Well, that’s certainly a kinder view than most people take of him.”

Duck shrugs, “Leo always said hero and villain shit was never as cut and dry as people wanna believe. He had the right idea. I think the Mothman might come around some day.”

“Perhaps.” Indrid murmurs, wondering if is inappropriate to ask ones nemesis if they could draw them; Duck’s face is even more striking without his mask.

“I ought to be going. My condolences again.”

“Thank you.” Duck stands with him, walks out the archway by his side before they each turn towards separate parts of the parking lot, “Uh, maybe I’ll see you around some time?”

Indrid can’t stop his grin, “Most definitely.”


	16. A Tight Spot (Danbrey)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reader requested a mash-up of the following "problems for a villain in love with the hero."  
> 5 Should I update my outfit again? I think they like my new boots but the cape didn’t get the reaction I was hoping for 
> 
> 3 Okay so when they wink at me after a great comeback, is that just their charismatic arrogance or do they maybe like me back?

“I think I should ditch the cape. I mean, she didn’t mention it all Cleopatra.” Dani sits down on the greenhouse bench to adjust her bootlace. Cleopatra tilts her head, curious, but does nothing else. This is because she is sentient venus flytrap and is limited in her ability to communicate.

“I did catch her checking out the boots. I think. Maybe she was just looking for a way to knock me off my feet.” She mists Cleopatra and her sisters, continuing, “which, also, she literally made a quip about wanting to sweep me off my feet. I just cannot get a read on her.”

She stands, walking to her devils-mouth orchids and checking their water levels, “I mean, I even picked fabric for the cape that made my eyes look nice. Jake helped me make sure the colors on the cape and the boots matched up and everything. Uggggggggh, I cannot believe it’s come to this.”

“Haha!”

“Not helping, Juice.” She turns to the Myna bird (one of three) perched on a nearby branch. They’re trained to be spies and minions, but mostly they offer unsolicited commentary on her life.

“Ask her.” Squawks another

“DON’T ASK!” Shrieks the third.

“Come to a consensus or I’m not putting that intelligence serum in your water anymore.”

The birds exchange a look.

“Don’t follow our advice!” says the smallest one.

“Don’t, don’t” echo the other two.

Dani sighs, turns back to Cleopatra, “Come on, help me figure out what to wear for the next time.”

The plant slithers along behind her (she modified the flytrap genome with anaconda DNA), curls up on the counter in the bathroom as she pulls out her make-up case. 

“Okay, copper is good on the eyes right? It’ll highlight the gold. I think. Hmmmm…” she taps her chin with the end of a brush, “vampy red would definitely make her look at my mouth. Which is apparently a thing I want, because I am the worlds most cliche supervillain.”

Cleopatra rustles her tendrils sympathetically. 

“But the red clashes with everything. Maybe a deeper color, oooh, the cute cashier at the coffee shop said this one looked good on me. I tried to think of something flirty to say back and just ended up complimenting her pompadour. God, why is villain me so much smoother than civilian me? Or is she even that any more?”

A vine pats her hand.

“Thanks girl. Now, having my hair up is safe for fighting, but does it make me too severe? Like, too dominatrixy? Or does the Lady Flame like that sort of thing? Uhg WHY DO I CARE?” She thunks her head onto the mirror.

“Half-twist?” The purple-crested Myna bird pokes it head in, cocking it’s head robotically.

“…..Perfect.”

———————————————

The Pine Guard has once again gotten the drop on the Crystal Cabal, much to Dani’s annoyance. What is the point of having a team mate who can see the future if this keeps happening to them?

She dives out of the way of a burst of flame, tossing a handful of her latest creation at her nemesis.

“Aw, flowers for me?” Lady Flame flutters her eyelashes, “they’re prettyYYYow, fireflower.”

“That’s right, I turned your own element against you.”

The hero picks up the flaming flowers and starts juggling them, “I’ve heard of hothouse flowers, but this is ridiculous.”

“She’s flame-proof, Demeter, for goodness sake, OW that hurt.” Indrid, aka Nyx, throws a punch at The Ranger, who absorbs the blow easily. 

Dani hadn’t been thinking of flame proof heroes when she made the plants; she’d been thinking what color to make them so that the Lady Flame would think they were pretty.

“If you all would kindly just surrenderPUT ME DOWN!” The Agent yelps, indignant, when Barclay, aka Hermes, hoists him over his shoulders.

“And if you’d ‘kindly’ just hold still and not bother us for ten minutes, this could all be avoided.”

The fireflowers turn to ash, Lady Flame stepping through it with a grin, “I dig the new boots, very classy. Got a whole ‘don’t fuck with me vibe’ I like a lot.”

“That’s exactly what you should have done. You should have left us alone.” Dani musters her most imperious voice as she launches vines across the ground, taking Lady Flame by surprise and trapping her in the grasp of two large, green, fireproof tendrils. 

“Hah! Surrender, all of you, or my pets will-”

“Eeeep! Hey, what the-” The Lady Flame looks behind her at the smaller vine that just pinched her butt.

“Ohmygosh, I’m so sorry-”

“C’mon now Demeter, no need to get fresh with her. That ain’t sportin.”

“That’s rich coming from the man currently straddling me.” Indrid hisses. 

“I ain’t straddlin, I’m restrainin.”

“I mean I, whoah, hey there” another vine caresses Lady Flame’s chest, a third touches her cheek, “I’m not, like, opposed to someone getting handsy, or uh, viney, I guess. But you have to buy me coffee first.”

“I’m, I don’t know why they’re doing this. I’m so sorry, they’re being so rude and they will be _mulch_ if they touch you in a way you don’t like.” Dani takes one step forward and a vine grips her ankle, starts twining upwards. 

“Uhhhhh, why are they doing that?”

“They shouldn’t be! They respond to my thoughts and emotional state.” She tries every trick she can think off, but nothing makes the vines obey, and two more encircle her chest and stomach.

“Wait, if they respond to your feelings, then do you-GAH!” The vine around Lady Flame’s ribs visibly tightens, as the ones holding Dani drag the two women face to face. 

“I’ve always thought you were breathtaking, but the literal approach is kinda freaking me out.” 

“Me too.” Dani thrashes, and the vine tightens around her. She’s starting to get lightheaded. 

“Guys, a little-”

“-Help!” Dani finishes the Lady Flames’ sentence, and the four other figures in the room turn towards them as one.

“Oh shit.” Barclay tosses The Agent away, drops down next to Dani, hacking at the larger vine with his utility weapon. The Agent recovers, tries to yank the main vine from it’s source only for a tendril to whip out and strike his cheek. 

“I would like it noted that this was not a likely future.” Indrid tugs at the tightest vine, slashing it with his sharp nails. The Ranger manages to rip one off of Lady Flame’s arm, only for it’s larger cousin to shoot out, sending him flying into Indrid and knocking them both to the ground. 

As their teammates continue their losing battle against her unfortunately durable creation, Dani turns to meet her enemies eyes. 

“I’m sorry.” She whispers, “I never really wanted to hurt you. I just wanted you all not to hurt us.”

“I mean we, like, don’t hate you all or anything, but you’ve, like, been putting people in danger, and blowing things up-”

“Nyx didn’t blow up that bridge!” If they’re both about to die, there’s no point in keeping up the act. 

“Wait, what?”

“He was framed, but we thought it made people take us seriously as a threat, listen to us, so we let people believe it was true. Same with me and that power plant. I just blackmailed the CEO into admitting they’d been dumping toxins in the water supply. None of us blew the place up. Hell, you guys were the ones who destroyed that factory.”

“…..wait, they told us _you_ did that.”

“Who told you?”

“Them? Y’know, the big bosses?” 

“We don’t have those, but we do have informants.”

“What the fuuUUUCk, ow, squishing my ribs, we’re being played.”

“That, ow, that sucks. All this time we’ve been fighting, we could have been dating, I mean, uh, working together.” 

Lady Flame laughs, a bright, beautiful sound, “I knew you were checking me out.”

“Me?! You were the one who kept making flirty comments.”

“Hey, banter’s part of the job. Also, you have a cute butt and that costume really shows off your, um,” The last word is so quiet Dani can’t make it out, but given that Lady Flame glances at her chest, she’s got a good guess as to what it was. 

The vines constrict and they both hiss in pain, the world going fuzzier at the edges as breathing gets almost impossible. 

“I, if this, if this is the end, I just wanna say it’s been a pleasure doing battle with you, Lady Flame.”

Fire colored eyes meet her own, accompanied by a weak smile, “You can call me Aubrey.”

“Dani. Nice to meet you, Aubrey.” She has just enough energy to tip her head forward, bringing their lips together. It’s barely a kiss, but as soon as they connect the vines go limp, dropping them to the floor. 

For a moment they gasp jointly for air, then Aubrey is in her lap, fingers tangling in her hair as she kisses her hard and happily. Dani sighs into the kiss, melting into the embrace, knowing full well the near-strangulation isn’t what’s causing the dizziness in her vision and the butterflies in her stomach. 

“Uh, can’t help but feel we missed somethin.” Over in the corner where they were both thrown (twice), The Ranger tries to disentangle himself from Indrid, who sits up with a knowing look.

“Oh, I see. It appears we are about to form an alliance.”

“Really?” Barclay looks back at them from where’s hes sitting, checking the cuts on The Agents face. 

“It’s a long story, but the cliff notes are: we’re pretty sure someone’s been setting us against each other on purpose. Making us each think the other caused certain disasters.”

“Which means it’s time for a team-up.” Aubrey cracks her knuckles, sending sparks flying. Then she glances shyly at Dani, who reaches out to brush stray ash from her cheeks, “Um, but before that, would you like to go out with me?”

Dani kisses her again, bumps their noses together with a smile as she murmurs, “That sounds really fucking awesome.”


	17. Cold Night (Indruck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reader requested, "It’s mid january what the shit are they doing out here without a scarf and gloves and would it be weird if I offered them mine" for the supervillain list.

Indrid gazes down through the museum skylight. His future vision tells him the security guard will need to visit the bathroom in thirty seconds, giving him ample time to remove the false pane of glass he planted yesterday and slip into the exhibit hall. 

A gust of wind drops a clump of snow down his neck and he scowls at the sky. He can’t get inside that building fast enough.

“Alright Cold, window shoppin time is over.”

A swirl of snow tornadoes across the roof and his nemesis, Ursa Major (secret identity: Duck Newton, forest ranger), steps through it.

Indrid groans, standing up to face him. The hero is in his standard green uniform, boots and mask decorated with constellations. Indrid’s own outfit is all black, save for his trademark red glasses. They were his signature when he was just Indrid Cold, eccentric city planner of Kepopolis, and he has no interest in surrendering them. 

“Go away, it’s of no concern to you whether I acquire some new scientific specimens for my collection.”

“You know that ain’t the case. Besides, if you were rippin off some rich CEO I might be inclined to let it slide. But this is science museum. Y’know, the free one? The one people take their kids to on weekends? You ain’t jackin anything from it on my watch.”

Indrid sighs, theatrically, “Very well. Let’s get this over with. It’s not like it’ll hurt you to be thrown off a building again.”

“Not gonna happen.” The hero cracks his knuckles. 

His bare knuckles. 

Good god, he’s not wearing gloves. Or a scarf. Or any extra layers. How is he not just a hunksicle (no, damnit, he’s not that hunky. He’s beefcakey. No, not that either)?

Indrid stays put as the other man charges him, uses his powers to anticipate the exact moment to step out of the path of the blow. Duck sweeps out a leg, but only succeeds at slipping in the snow. Indrid snickers and Duck whirls on him with a growl.

“Careful, keep that stumbling up and you’ll fall straight through this window and make my job easier. I’d hate to have the chance to pin the robbery on you.”

“I ain’t ever stolen a thing, everyone knows-” he cuts of into a full body shudder. Indrid takes the chance to knock him over with a slight shove, then scurries back. Duck shivers again as he brushes snow from his costume. 

“Bit chilly?” He grins wickedly to cover any concern that might try to show through.

“F-fuck you.” 

“Look, it wouldn’t be sporting of me to fight when you’re clearly incapacitated. And it’s negative fifteen out here right now. Here” he starts undoing the knot in his thermal scarf, “at least take this.”

“I’m f-fine, ext-tra s-strong and all that s-shit.” He stands, tries to take a fight stance, only to sneeze and shiver even harder. 

“I can hear your teeth chattering over the wind. And, goodness,your lips are turning blue, that’s not good at all. Hang on, let me just get out of this.” He checks the pockets of his stealth jacket to make sure there’s nothing important in them, slips it off, and holds it out.

Duck waves it away, “Whatever t-trap this is, I ain’t-t t-taken the b-bait.”

“For goodness sake, take the blasted jacket.” Indrid offers it again and Duck smacks it away. Indrid glares at him over his glasses, “You will be of no use to anyone, be they hero, villain, or civilian, if you die of hypothermia.”

“C-could get me inside by surren–achoo–derin.”

“Not a chance. If you insist on stubbornly staying out here and fighting, at least do so properly equipped. The sooner we get this over with the sooner we can both get somewhere warm.” 

“St-top offerin that jacket!”

Indrid frustratedly tries to trap the hero in the warm coat, but succeeds only in repeatedly hitting him with it.

“Just” _whap_ “ take” _whap_ “my help!” _whap_.

Duck dodges the fabric once, twice, three times.

And promptly steps off the edge of the building.

“Duck!” Indrid dives forward, grabbing a freezing hand that barely holds onto him.

The hero smirks up at him, “You f-forgettin somethin?”

Indrid remembers his earlier comment about Duck easily surviving this fall.

“Oh damn it all.”

Duck tugs, and then they’re both falling, Indrid twisting in the air in hopes of landing with the upper hand. 

This turns out to be for naught, as they land side by side in a massive snowbank.

“Ow.” 

Duck sneezes in agreement as the chill seeps through Indrid’s protective layers. It’s dark, the world is in that strange late night that is longing to be morning during which which most buildings have shut off all but a scant few lights. It’s now, his glasses inform him, -25 with the windchill. 

And Duck is barely moving, huddled in the snow and watching Indrid carefully. 

“Look, neither of us is going to get anything done in this weather. And we could both use some warmth. Is there anywhere nearby that’s open?”

“Diner. T-two blocks down.”

Indrid stands, hauling Duck to his feet and pulling him close in hopes of warming him, “Come on then.”

———————————–

The neon signs on the walls buzz and tinny jukebox plays exactly the kind of sorrowful country song it should at 2 am on a miserable night. The diner is empty save for the single waitress and cook, who chatter in the kitchen.

Indrid sips his mug of tea with eight scoops of sugar, while Duck stirs his coffee with fingers that are only now steadying. Indrids jacket hags around his shoulders, and his scarf is looped around his neck. 

He tries to ignore the affection seeing Duck in his clothing kindles in him, but it’s like the faint music and the neon buzz, a constant background noise that he can’t tune out.

Duck taps his fingers on his mug before asking quietly, “Why not just leave me out in that snowbank?”

“Because I didn’t want you to become ill, or worse.”

“You ain’t answerin the real question.”

Indrid glances out at the dark street, the removes his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose, “I’m not certain.”

“It the same reason you ain’t told anyone else my real name?”

Indrid drops the glasses, surprised by this future, and they clatter on the teal table, “How did you know I knew that?”

“You called me by it up there.” He jerks his head towards the museum.

“Oh. So I did.”

“And you’ve hinted that you knew things about me when we tangled before. But I ain’t had any supervillains hidin in my closet, no one stakin out the station. Which tells me you ain’t shared this with you buddies.”

“They’re not my ‘buddies.’ I work alone.” He can’t hide the scorn that enters his voice at the thought of Kepopolis’s League of Villains. The he looks back at Duck and the world softens, “But you’re right; I’ve kept your identity to myself. I…I like you, Duck. Save for the moments where we’re trading blows, I think we could be friends.”

(More than friends)

“I feel no malice towards you. I did the first few times, but when I look for it now all that remains is a certain fondness. Even when you are a thorn in my side, you are a familiar thorn. The kind that builds up scar tissue, making one stronger and, ah, no, that metaphor got away from me, I apologize.”

Duck considers him silently for a moment. Then he grabs the edges of his mask and pulls it up and off.

Indrid has seen Duck’s face before in visions. But seeing it now undoes him. The strong jaw and soft cheeks, the laugh lines, the signs of worry and wear that Indrid wishes he could soothe away with gentle promises. 

“What do you want from me, Indrid?”

“Nothing. Uh, that is, everything. Ah, no, apologies, that was not helpful.” He sits up straight, musters his remaining courage, “I wish to get to know you better, Duck. As friends and equals, not as enemies.”

“How do you figure that’d work?”

“I could…take a break from my cunning plans? And in return you could tell your fellow heroes not to look for me. I’d really rather not have someone explode through my wall while I’m in my fuzzy moth slippers trying to read.”

Duck gives a startled laugh, and at the sight of the smile Indrid’s heart glows like neon.

“That’s a hell of an image. Okay, fine. You lay of the schemin and stealin, I’ll make sure you don’t get bothered.”

“And we can see each other?” He bounces excitedly in place, which amuses Duck all the more.

“Sure. Come by work at five tomorrow, and we can go from there. Deal?” He holds out his hand and Indrid takes it eagerly.

“Deal.”

They pay the tiny bill and part ways, Indrid glancing back only to find Duck doing the same with a fond smile in his direction.

It’s only when he gets home that he realizes Duck still has his scarf and jacket.

Ah well, it’s no trouble. He checks the futures. Yes, in all of them Duck is sure to bring his clothes back to him without prompting.

And in all of them, when Indrid presents him with flowers, he smiles bright enough to chase the last of the dark worries from Indrid’s mind.


	18. Double Life (Indruck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reader requested: "his isn't off any prompt list but hero/villian indruck where they have a meetcute and both desperately try to keep the other from finding out their alter ego as their relationship gets more and more serious while simultaneously trying to keep their rival away from their seemingly innocent love interest for fear of endangering them "

“You win this round, Knight,” The Moth hovers, mechanical wings flapping and smile spreading across his face. The blood trickling down his nose doesn’t faze him in the slightest, “But I’m sure we’ll see each other quite soon.”

He flies off before Duck can grab him, leaving the hero standing, arms crossed (and cross in general), his quiet evening at home ruined by The Moth’s need cause trouble at the Governors Ball.

He’d just gotten to a good part in his book too.

————————

“Oh goodness, I’m so sorry!”

Duck looks up as he’s wiping coffee from his lap to find a tall, gangly, angular stranger hurriedly tossing down his bag to help clean up the spill.

“I’m sorry, I get lost in my thoughts sometimes and oh, darn it all.” In his eagerness to help, the taller man splashes coffee onto this white tank top, giving him a belly splotch that matches the one on Ducks green t-shirt. 

“It’s uh, no big deal, ain’t like I was in my Sunday best and, uh, that ain’t a library book.”

“Oh no your book.” The other man lifts the stained paperback, looks at it sadly, “At least let me buy you a replacement.” He’s holding the book to his chest now, clearly hopeful that Duck will let him make amends.

Between the red-brown eyes, the tousled, silver-dyed hair, and the earnest, odd smile, he has an air of disheveled charm that, at his age, Duck ought to be past finding adorable. 

Instead, he smiles back, “Sure thing. Bookstore two blocks down oughta have copies, and a little cafe to boot. You let me buy you a replacement drink, I’ll let you buy me a new book. Deal?”

The other man nods, hands flapping, “Yes, that sounds wonderful.”

Duck grins, suddenly excited, before noticing he’s a bit sticky.

“Meet me there in an hour so we can both change?”

“It’s a date.”

————————————–

It’s a date? Agh, of all the ways he could have phrased it, why did his blasted, traitorous mouth choose that one?

He stands awkwardly in one corner of the cafe, hands stuffed into the pockets of his pink and yellow cardigan. Was this too flamboyant? He doesn’t even know if the other man is gay. He supposes he could look into the futures to determine the answer to that, but doing so feels rude. 

This is why he turned to supervillainy in the first place; he’s terrible with people. 

He wishes he’d worn his glasses. They’re technically a tool of his trade, but they make him feel safe. 

“Uh, howdy.” 

He glances up, finds the man from before looking at him. Now that he’s not racked with panic trying to clean up a spill, he has a chance to take in just how much his type the man is. Short, but bear like (”a teddy bear” his mind supplies, unhelpfully), with green eyes and charming, unhurried vibe to him. His drawl does remind him of a certain hero who’s always in his way, but he won’t hold that against him. 

“Buy you a coffee?”

“Yes, please. Ah, um, I guess I should introduce myself; I’m Indrid.”

“Duck” he holds out his hand and Indrid takes it, enjoys the warmth and strength in his grip, “Nice to meet you.”

————————————–

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.” Duck tightens Beacon around The Moth, who tears at the blade with his retractable claws. Duck learned about those the hard way, when the villain extended them during one of their first meetings. The slash broke the skin, something rare for Duck on account of his durability. 

“And you have got to come up with some more creative lines, hero.” The Moth snarls, “you have used that one twice before now. Which is also how many times you have forgotten about this.” The villain throws himself sideways and down with enough force to yank Duck to his knees and loosen his grip. As his sword clatters to the ground, red powder fills his eyes.

“Gah, jesus, not that shit again.” His eyes sting, and as he pats the ground for Beacon he hears the scrape of metal moving away from him. Beacons hilt disappears into the mist, dragged slowly back by The Moth’s foot. 

Duck looks up at him through watering eyes, trying not to breath in the dust. 

“Well, you got me at your mercy. You gonna start gloatin about your evil plans or some shit?”

A light, sharp laugh, “Why would I waste my time in such a way? Oh no, I shall be making off with my prize. And making sure you don’t follow me.”

He raises his foot, and Ducks vision whites out on one side as he crumples. 

He should be more worried about the villain getting away with the schematics for the ApCorps latest government security features. 

Mostly, he’s worried he’ll have a black eye tomorrow. 

————————

“Hel-oh goodness, Duck, your eye.” Indrid opens the door a half second before Duck knocks, then quickly cups his cheeks to take a closer look.

“Looks worse than it is, sugar, don’t worry. And, uh, surprise.” He produces a small bouquet of Irises from he behind his back. Indrid beams, taking them with squeak of delight. 

“They’re lovely, but what’s the occasion?” He’s smiling almost like he knows, almost like he just wants to hear him say it. 

“Know, uh, know I said I wanted to take things slow, but I realized we been datin a month I ain’t given you anythin.”

“You bought me coffee that first time. And we have each bought dinner for the other multiple times.” Indrid takes his hand, drawing him inside. 

“I know but, well, kinda wanted to do somethin a little more special.”

“Any time with you is special.” 

Duck snorts, “Cornball.”

Indrid kisses, “I learned from the best.”

————————————-

“What can I say, I learned from the best.” Indrid grins at The Knight, who is currently hanging upside down in an elegantly simple snare. 

“I got the idea from that unpleasant sword of yours. Keep your enemy tied up nice and tight to keep them out of your OW, ow, alright I should have seen that coming.” His glasses are now cracked from the Knight headbutting him.

“I’m impressed you could manage that upside down.”

“Drop these fuckin chains off me and I’ll show you somethin real impressive.”

Indrid tilts his head, “Tempting, but I have a pressing engagement tomorrow morning. Not to mention I need to get this,” he pats the painting he just lifted from the house of a man with a gold toilet, “somewhere safe. Until we meet again.” He offers a mocking salute, and takes flight.

——————————————–

“Again?” Indrid offers, pressed against warm, sweat-tinged expanse of Duck’s chest, his heart beating in time with the rapid rise and fall of Ducks breathing.

“Nope. Not that the body and mind ain’t willin, but the mind and body also got work tomorrow. Damn that felt good.” He usually tops, but with Indrid he’s found it more variable; some nights, like tonight, the other man fucks him into the bed, or over the nearest table, or however far they get before Duck can’t stand waiting anymore. Other nights, Indrid gets on all fours so Duck can fuck him with the strap, drops to his knees before they make it past the entryway, tugging at Duck’s belt buckle with little whimpers. 

“Mmmm, it was magnificent my love.” Indrid goes stone still in his arms as that last syllable flutters in the air.

Duck brushes strands of pale hair from his forehead, “I love you too, ‘Drid.”

His boyfriend flops down in relief, “oh thank goodness that’s the way it went.”

“As if I could feel any other way about you.”

Indrid mutters something that might be “cornball” into his chest, yawns and nestles closer with whisper of “love my teddy bear.”

“Love you too, sugar.”

Shit.

He’s in love with Indrid. 

Bad things happen to superhero love interests. _Very_ bad things. He can’t bear losing him, but no one beside the other members of the Pine Gaurd know his secret identity. He’s not ready to tell him yet. Soon, but not yet. 

Indrid rolls sleepily onto his side and Duck goes with him, turning into the little spoon in his embrace. God, what if an enemy decides to kidnap him, hurt him, just to get to Duck?

Then again, no villain has singled him out, save for one. 

Which he’ll need to deal with that one as soon as he can. 

————————-

“Give up while you still can, Moth!” 

“Not a chance.” Indrid hisses back, clutching the gash on his arm from the sword. What has gotten into the Knight today? Usually he only fights Indrid the amount needed to stop whatever crime he’s busy committing. 

Today he’s trying to destroy him. 

He’s been training, that much is clear, he has new moves that Indrid finds difficult to anticipate in a fight, and a fire in his eyes that heightens Indrid’s guard. 

As he flits out of reach of yet another strike, his goal of thievery long forgotten in favor of not getting chopped in half, he tries to determine the source of the change. What would make him fight harder?

Duck. He’d burn this city to the ground, tear every hero in it to pieces, if Duck were in danger. 

He reaches the edge of the building, but before stepping off to safety he turns.

“You win tonight, Knight. But do give that new lover of yours my regards.”

——————————————–

“Hey, Indrid?”

“Yes?” His boyfriend looks up from his sketches. 

“I was wonderin if, uh, if you’d like to go to a fancier place than normal? Barclay got me an in at La Lune, thought we could go on Friday. There’s, uh, there’s somethin I wanna talk about.”

“Is is a marriage proposal or breaking up with me?”

“What? No!”

Indrid chuckles, “I am teasing. Mostly.” He bounces his eyebrows and Duck rolls his eyes in response. 

“Thought afterwards, might be nice to go out to the park and stargaze, tell you what I need to in private.”

“That sounds lovely, my love.”

——————————

The stars are aligning in Indrid’s favor this week. 

Yesterday, when the Knight tried to corner him on his way out of his lair, he took the gamble of getting close, earning him the reward of landing a deep slash on The Knight’s cheek. One he won’t be able to heal by tonight. Whether he’s in his hero get-up or his civilian clothes, Indrid will be able to spot him. 

And tonight, he has it on good authority that the Knight will be appearing in this block of the city. The same block on which sits La Lune. Indrid can go to dinner with his boyfriend right after removing the biggest threat to said boyfriend. 

He’s perched on the roof of the restaurant, steering clear of the large skylight. His glasses scan the streets, the windows all around him. 

But this is taking longer than anticipated. He hasn’t looked too far into the futures for the night, since his growing romantic side wants whatever Duck tells him to be a true surprise. 

He pulls out his phone, swipes to his conversation with Duck. Beneath the photo of a Scarlet Tanager Duck sent him from his work at the ranger station he types, _running behind, will be there shortly after 7._

He receives back, _NP, see you soon sugar_ with a kissy face. 

The minutes tick by, the spring sun setting inch by inch behind the downtown skyline. At 7:05, he peeks through the skylight, spots Duck. He can’t see his face all the way in the mood lighting of the restaurant, but he knows his gait, his profile. 

At 7:30 there is still no sign of his nemesis. He’s been scanning and staring and searching, looking at his phone only once after it buzzes many times. He has four missed calls and five texts

_Duck: ETA? Damn, this place is even fancier than I thought._

_Duck: Everything okay? If you’re close, I can order us some appetizers so you don’t got to wait to eat._

_Duck: Can’t wait to see you._

_Duck: Are you still coming? Are you okay?_

_Duck: Sugar?_

That last one comes as he’s reading the others. He peers down through the skylight, sees Duck stare at his phone for a ten count, gnawing his lip. Then he looks up at the sky, eyes shut, as if weighing a decision. 

Indrid’s heart plummets. 

There’s a gash on Duck’s cheek. 

A gash he put there. 

Every coincidence, every strange incident he’d pushed to side, lost in the happiness of their courtship, floods his mind. 

Suddenly, he knows what Duck was going to tell him. 

With shaking fingers, he types,

_So sorry, my battery died at the worst of all times, I borrowed a charger from a good samaritan. I’m nearly there._

It takes him two and a half minutes to descend the building and change into his evening wear that he stashed nearby. 

At three minutes, he’s walking through the doors, Duck jumping up and hugging him before he even makes the table.

“Sorry for, uh, textin so much, I guess I got a bit nervous. Y’know how shit can get here; can be walkin home and suddenly a supervillain is wreckin shit and you’re collateral.”

“I understand.” He takes his seat, Duck relaxing into the chair opposite him, “in fact, my love, I understand a great deal.”

Indrid reaches into his pocket, producing a pair of red glasses. He slips them on, knowing the other diners will think nothing of it. 

“I look familiar, don’t I?”

Duck stares so long, moving so little, that Indrid fears he sent him into some kind of shock. 

“Get out. Now.” Duck’s tone is level, his eyes glinting with threat. 

“Duck, please, I, I want to explain-”

“ _Out_. I ain’t gonna tangle with you tonight, but I don’t wanna see you ever again.”

Wordlessly, Indrid removes the glasses, and walks into the night.

———————————————

Indrid is out of ideas. 

For the first week after his confession, he searched the futures religiously for any sign that Duck would come after him, would reveal his apartment to the other heroes. 

It never came. 

He hasn’t stolen anything in two months. 

He sent a single apology letter to Duck, doing his best to explain the situation. Watched the futures narrow down to a single one; Duck reading it, then tearing it up. 

He even sent anonymous notes to the Pine Guard, altering them to several oncoming disasters or the kind of supervillainy that has a body count. 

Wounded pride, a loss of purpose, a wave of self-loathing, and a dozen other complexly unpleasant emotions could form the center of his world. 

But it all comes down to one simple feeling: he misses Duck. Misses his smile, his sense of humor, his strange laugh, the safety he felt by his side, and endless list of things stripped from his life by his own actions. 

Which is why it has come to this.

He sets up the camera, and starts recording.

————————————————

“Hey, Duck, I think you should see this.”

Duck plods into the main control room, where Ned is fiddling with the video feed while Aubrey waves him to sit by her.

“I swear to fuck if it’s that police chief tryin to recruit us again-”

“Nah, Aubrey and I finally got through to him.” Mama tosses out from the corner where she’s busily whittling a wooden duck. 

The screen flickers blue, and then Duck feels the opposing pulls of revulsion and longing as Indrid’s face appears. His glasses are off, but he’s otherwise in his full villain get-up.

“Hello Duck, and, ah, I assume the rest of the Pine Guard. It is fine with me if you all listen in, but this message is ultimately for him.”

Barclay reaches over Ned to hit pause, “Duck?”

“Y’all can stay.”

The video resumes. 

“I have two messages. The first is an apology; not necessarily for the things I have stolen, but for any genuine harm I caused other people, yourselves included. And I apologize once again, and as many more times as you require, Duck, for not telling you the truth sooner. In my defense, there is no easy way to admit to the man you love that you are a supervillain. All the same, I ought to have been brave enough to try, for your sake.” 

Indrid sits up and Duck leans forward. 

“My second message is that I am retiring from supervillainy. I could say something about a change of view on the world in general, but the truth is that villainy is less interesting without an equal to rival and banter with me. And, well, I am sure I can find other ways to fill my days. Especially if the man I care for is by my side. I should be clear that my retirement is not contingent on you reaching out to me again, Duck. Merely that it is something you may wish to know. Ah, I suppose that is all. This is the Moth, signing off for the last time. I’m sorry again, Duck. I love you.”

“Think it’s a bluff?” Aubrey asks as the screen goes dark.

“No, as one who has mastered the art of insincerity, I do not believe so.” Ned responds, switching on the lights.

Duck, for his part, says nothing.

—————————————————

Indrid rolls off the bed at the knock, rubbing his eyes as he trudges to the door, too tired to look at the futures. 

“How can I…” 

The sight of Duck Newton on his doorstep elicits so many emotions that he short circuits. 

“Hey.”

“Hello.”

“So, retiring huh?”

“Yes.” He fights the urge to chew his nails. 

“Guess that means you’re free to talk right now?”

“Indeed.” He steps back, allowing Duck to step in and shut the door.

“Great, Because we got a lot to talk about. But, uh, first.”

He cups Indrids cheeks, kissing him so lovingly that the former villain melts against him, gripping the front of his ranger jacket the way a falling man grasps at a cliff. 

“I missed you so much.” He whispers, and before he has time to hate the crack in his voice, Duck is kissing him again, guiding him slowly and surely to the couch, murmuring in between kisses.

“Missed you too, so much, goddamn, couldn’t stop thinkin about you, love you so much ‘Drid, wanna make things right, we’re gonna make ‘em right, I promise.”

Indrid glances at the futures, sees that in all of them they do, in fact, end up having a long, serious conversation, one that ends in even softer kisses and Duck curled around him in his bed. 

But there’s still a few more minutes for him to savor being here, safe and secure, in the arms of his hero.


	19. He's in Love With the Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reader requested: For a fic prompt! How about Duck and Indrid are childhood best friends who are college roommates. Indrid has been in love with Duck for years, but when Duck starts dating Minerva it throws Indrid into a deep depression. Ideally Duck and Indrid do get together in the end (though hopefully Duck and Minerva’s breakup isn’t nasty) and you can get as angsty as you’d like! Honestly the angstier the better is my motto! Also I’m all for Indrid still having future sight, if you’d like!

Indrid Cold lays face down on his bed. His phone is shoved under the black cotton of his pillow case, and he’s drawn the windows shut against the warm August air. 

This is a misery of his own making, he knows this. He can’t decide if the fact that it’s a misery nearly two decades in the making is impressive or pathetic. 

To understand the origins of it, one has to rewind the tape of his life back quite a ways.

——————————————————-

Duck Newton is six years old and hunting for miners lettuce in his backyard, when he feels like he’s being watched. 

Looking up, he finds a face framed with shaggy dark hair, glasses perched on a pointy nose, peeking over the fence at him. As soon as the face sees him, it ducks back down. 

Weird. 

He goes back to foraging, only to find the face watching him again a minute later. This time, when it disappears, he clambers up the oak tree alongside the fence and scoots carefully out onto a limb that sticks out into the neighboring yard. The face, which belongs to a boy about his age, is staring up at him, as if he expected Duck to appear. He’s standing on the edge of the decorative fountain the old neighbors put in the yard. 

“Why’re you watchin me?”

“I wanted to know what you were doing.” 

“How come?”

“I’m bored. My dads are putting the house together and I don’t want to draw anymore.” He points to a stack of pictures, next to some crayons that are melting in the sun. 

Duck thinks; he hasn’t had anyone to play with since school got out. Leo, who lives down the block, is nine, so not as interested in having Duck trailing after him like a little brother as he used to be.

“…You wanna go see a huge crawdad?”

The other boy perks up, “I have no idea what that is. But yes.”

“C’mon, meet me in the front yard. What’s your name?”

“Indrid.”

“That’s a weird name.”

“What’s yours?” Indrid crosses his arms, eyebrow raised

“Duck.”

Indrid stares at him, wide mouth curling up at one side. His stare is a bit unnerving, and Duck feels the need to explain himself.

“It’s a nickname.”

————————————————————

“I think that’s the same large one from last year.” Indrid peers over his sketchpad, staring down at a crawdad scuttling through the clear creek.

“Told you we shoulda put a colored tape on them or somethin so we could keep track.” Duck looks at the crustacean, and then back at the project he’s working on.

They’re nine years old, hazy and sleepy in the summer afternoon. This part of the creek is shaded, keeps them hidden from passersby and parents alike (they’ve learned to tell at least one parent where they’re going, after Greg, one of Indrid’s dad’s, panicked looking for them). 

“What are you making?” Indrid wiggles next to him in the grass, gnawing his pencil as Duck shows him. 

“S’a reed raft. I’m gonna see how far I can float it down the river.”

“I will draw a flag for it.” Indrid scribbles, and Duck grins at him. He continues, “I’m glad you’re back. I hate when you got to your uncle’s during the summer. I have no one to talk to.”

“You could talk to Dani.”

“She’s busy a lot.”

Duck looks a little guilty, “Did you get the postcards?”

“Uh huh.” Indrid nods, smiling at his friend to show there’s no harm done. He knows it’s not up to Duck where he goes. The postcards are pinned to his wall, along with his own drawings, some horror movie posters, and the postcards from the last two summers. 

“Oh, look at what I found while we were at the lake.” Duck reaches into his pocket, pulling out a smooth, wiggly-striped stone, “Uncle Jeff says it’s agate.” 

He holds it out and Indrid takes it, runs his fingers along the smooth, cool surface. It feels lovely. And it reminds him of what he likes most about being Duck’s friend; Duck can make anything, even a rock, seem interesting and special. 

Indrid is reminded of another reason he is lucky to have Duck the next morning. 

All the adults are down in the living room, talking worriedly. There’s been a car crash on the nearby highway, and one of the trucks was carrying something toxic. The school is closed, and everyone has been told to stay home because the air could be unsafe. 

Indrid is under all his blankets, his sketchbook thrown to the other side of the room.

“‘Drid?” The door creaks as Duck enters the bedroom. 

He wants to beg him to hide under the covers with him. He wants to tell him to go away. 

He sniffs, wipes his nose on his arm, and hears Duck turn towards the bed. The covers slowly lift, and Indrid blinks blearily, tearily up at him.

“Have you been cryin?” Duck looks worried. 

He nods. 

“Did you know someone who got hurt?”

“No. I, I saw it happen. In my head. Over and over last night. I thought I was imagining it. But then it happened. Th-that happens a lot, ever since my birthday. It’s like, like I see things and then sometimes they happen and sometimes they don’t. I draw them but, but I’m afraid if my dad’s find out they’ll, they’ll think I’m wrong, somethings wrong with me.” 

As he’s talking, Duck sits down next to him, rests his arm around his shoulders. 

“Nothin’s wrong with you ‘Drid. This is weird, but it don’t make you bad. You should tell you dads. They’re nice, they’ll help you.” He squeezes Indrid’s arm, smiling at him as he rests his head on his shoulder, “I’ll help you too.” He slips the agate from his pocket and into Indrid’s hands, moves their fingers over it in tandem until the motion soothes Indrid’s breathing down, then tucks it into Indrid’s pocket.

————————————————————————————–

“You okay ‘Drid?” Duck plops down on a cafeteria bench Kepler Middle School, Indrid poking glumly at his fruit salad. 

“We had oral presentations today. I did mine on my moth.” He taps the jar in front of him. A week or so ago it had contained a caterpillar that he and Duck had identified as belonging to a Banded Tiger Moth. Indrid had decided to raise it into adulthood, Duck helping him figure out which weeds to feed it before it went into its cocoon. When it emerges, he and Duck have the perfect spot picked to release it.

“What’s wrong with your moth?”

“Nice glasses, mothman!” A voice yells, two boys high-fiving when Indrid shrinks in on himself. 

“Hey, fuck you, mothman rules!” Duck thanks his lucky stars none of the cafeteria monitors heard him. He recognizes those two; they’re in Indrid’s CORE class with him, meaning the nickname has already spread. Indrid, with his tics and his tendency to finish people’s sentences, his glasses and scraggly appearance, has been pegged as a target for months. It makes Duck’s blood boil to see them turn something Indrid spent time looking after into an insult. 

That night, he grabs a sharpie and one of his grey t-shirts. 

The next day, he turns up with “Mothman Rules” scrawled on his chest. Indrid’s smile is worth the lecture he gets about messing up his clothes. 

———————————————————–

Indrid and Duck sit side by side in the principals office. Their gym clothes in Kepler Middle’s colors, grey and maroon, seem even grimmer right now.

They haven’t done anything wrong, not as far as Indrid is concerned. 

Duck stood in the boys line-up during P.E, that’s all. When he refused to move to the girls line, the teacher told the rest of the boys to line up all over again, elsewhere. They all moved, except Indrid, who insisted that Duck was in the right line and refused to play along with a bid to deny that.

They have been sent to the principal for “causing trouble.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” Duck murmurs. 

“I did. You’re my friend, Duck. And Mr. H is an asshole.”

He thinks, but does not say, that it would take far more than a gym teacher and the threat of detention to leave Duck’s side when he’s in trouble.

———————————————————

It’s Indrid’s 16th birthday, and his dads are throwing a very subdued sweet sixteen. He dyed his hair silver, and they’ve ordered an entire table of desserts from a local bakery, and he, Duck, Juno, Dani, and Barclay have stuffed themselves while watching movies and teasing Dani for being ga-ga over her long-distance girlfriend, Aubrey, who she met playing an online tabletop games. 

Once the other three leave, Duck grabs Indrid’s jacket and hands it to him. 

“C’mon, lets go to the creek. Got somethin to show you.”

Indrid follows him, teasing him as they turn down the creekbed, “We’re not going to have a repeat of the beer incident are we?”

Duck laughs, “No. Learned better than to give that hummingbird palate of yours booze.”

They hit the familiar dirt of their favorite spot, and Duck gets on tiptoe and reaches into the trees above them. Strings of lights, red to match Indrid’s new glasses, and white, snap on. Below them is a blanket, and Indrid sits down with a perplexed smile. Then he checks the futures, and understands. 

“Is this entirely sanitary?”

“Enough.” Duck grins, pulling out a lighter and safety pin, “I did it on mine and I still got the ear.”

“Very well.” Indrid crosses his legs, checks the futures it be double sure this won’t end in infection, and braces himself, “left ear please.”

“Right. Okay, one, two-”

“OWowowow _ow_.” 

“Done!”

“Ow.” Indrid winces as Duck cleans the newly-pierced ear, loosens his grip on the agate in his fist.

“Can’t believe you still carry that thing around.”

“I find it soothing. Ooh, how nice.” Indrid picks up the black moth-shaped earring Duck hands him. 

“Figured it’d be better to start with a smaller one. And now that you’re all done, you can officially burn your list.”

Indrid pulls a worn sheet of binder paper from his pocket. When he, and then Duck, turned fifteen, they wrote out lists of things they wanted to do before they hit sixteen. He crosses out get ear pierced, then mutters, “I’m still missing one.”

Duck looks at him quizzically. He turns the paper around and points to first kiss.

“Wait, I thought you and Carlos-”

“Nope. Never got that far before we broke up.”

Duck sits next to him, gets a mischievous grin on his face, “Think I know how to help.”

“How’s tha-” 

It’s barely a kiss, Duck bringing their lips together just long enough for Indrid to feel him sigh happily. Then he pulls back, still grinning. 

Indrid is certain that if he looked down at himself, his veins would be pulsing technicolor, his body lit up like the cheap neon in their tiny downtown. 

“Ta-dah, list complete.” Duck whispers. 

“Thank you.” Indrid whispers back. 

He doesn’t think much of it for the rest of the night, figures it’s just a meeting of Duck’s goofier side with his desire to help a friend. 

It’s only when he’s laying in bed, playing the kiss over and over again like a favorite song, that he realizes he might be in trouble. 

————————————————————-

Indrid knows the likely outcome, but that doesn’t stop him from leaping up excitedly when Duck bangs the front door open.

“‘Drid, I got in! did you, oh, hey Mr. Cold, did you?”

“Yes.” Indrid grins from the bottom of the staircase. 

“Oh hell yeah! Juno got in too! Maybe we can all be roommates.”

As much as Indrid would like that outcome, the arbitrary housing system of UWV Huntington has other ideas. Duck ends up partnered with an affable if often absent psych major, Juno gets a single in the same dorm, just two floors down, and Indrid is stuck with a frat-boy business major.

That doesn’t stop them from making the most of their first year of college. Indrid crashes on Duck’s floor some nights, and the two of them manage to swing having a film class together during spring semester. They each dip their toes into the wild sea that is college dating, with mixed results, trading advice and anecdotes in the dark of Duck’s room.

And none of that, not one single bit, does anything to dampen Indrid’s romantic feelings for his friend. 

It’s not that he doesn’t try, just as he’s been trying every day since his 16th birthday. He loves Duck as a friend, wants to be in his life forever. He can’t afford to love him any other way. It’s too risky. And so he tries, over and over and over, to quash those feelings. Sometimes they ebb, sometimes Indrid happily dates or hooks up with other people. 

But they always come back, like a faithful hound finding it’s way home. 

Because Duck will laugh in that ridiculous way of his, be vulnerable with Indrid in those private moments, make Indrid feel understood in a way no one else can. And he falls in love all over again. 

(And that’s before he even gets to the moments where Duck will strip his shirt off on hot days, or wander into the room in his boxer shorts, and Indrid feels the urge to plead with him for the privilege of feeling him up).

It’s because of all this that, when Duck asks if Indrid wants to move in together their sophomore year, he almost says no. 

But then he and Duck are sharing celebratory take-out in a half-unpacked apartment and he’s happier than he ever thought he could be. 

It’s not perfect by any means. Indrid can be messy, Duck can be terse, money can be tight. But Indrid is so at home with Duck, all that fades into the background. They have friends over, compare notes on dates, have junk food strewn study sessions on the couch, keep each other company during all nighters. 

Then, in May of their Sophomore year, things change. 

“‘Drid? Oh good, you’re still up. Um, I wanted to tell you somethin. Minerva and I are goin out.”

“Oh. That’s a bit unexpected.” Indrid sets his drawing aside.

“You tellin me you don’t use that magic-eight ball brain to spy on my love life?” Duck teases, plopping down onto the bed with him. 

“Never. So…why the switch from work-out buddies to this?”

“Dunno, just seemed like we’d been spendin a lot of time together. She actually tutored me back in high school, remember, so it’s kinda fun to be around someone who’s known me that long. Y'know, someone who watched me grow up.”

“I see.” Indrid kicks his jealousy until it goes limp and sinks back under the surface of his feelings, “well, that’s awesome then. I’m glad you’re excited Duck.”

And he is. It’s not a lie, goodness knows he’s well aware he has no claim to Duck’s affection or time. And Minerva does seem to make him happy, encourages Duck’s good habits like going to the gym (something Indrid has tried once and will never do again. Yoga and walking are fine by him).

But soon he cannot go anywhere with Duck, including his own apartment, without Minerva there. Duck spends all of his time with her, and Indrid learns it’s not just him; while Minerva is gladly included in their group get-togethers, Juno hasn’t seen Duck in weeks. And has barely heard from him. She is also a bit loud and Indrid, who has always had trouble with over-stimulation from noise, finds himself out of the apartment more and more often. 

Indrid can’t blame Duck for spending time with Minerva rather than him; she’s jockular, active, attractive (even if she does call Duck by his first name). Indrid is odd, reclusive, and well, weird looking. 

It all goes to hell at the end of August. 

“‘Drid! The study abroad program offered me a scholarship. I get to go to Brazil. This is so fuckin cool!”

“Wonderful!” Indrid claps his hands, “I know how badly you’ve wanted to go. You have to promise me to send me pictures of brightly colored bugs for art inspiration. Oh, and now we can tell Dani she has somewhere to stay while she and Aubrey look for a shared place.”

“Exactly. And guess what, it gets even better.”

“How-” he sees the answer coming, tries to keep his face neutral. 

“Minerva’s comin with me!”

“I wasn’t aware wildlife conservation and management was her area of interest.”

“It ain’t, but she’s comin as part of a grad study program. It’s gonna be so fuckin amazin.”

“I’m sure it will be.” The pull between his true feelings and his need to seem supportive renders his answer flat. 

“What’s up?” Duck sits down in the kitchen chair opposite him. 

“Nothing. Or, well, I suppose I’ve just now realized that I’ll be without a good friend for a semester. I’ll miss you.”

“Aw, I’ll miss you too, you big sap. Don’t worry, I’ll write you a bunch, send pictures too when I can.”

Indrid looks at the futures, then down at the table, “No, you won’t.”

“Huh? Why wouldn’t I?” Duck looks hurt.

“In all the timelines, you send me one postcard at maximum. In most of them, you send none. I slip your mind entirely, it seems.” His voice is tight.

“The fuck? How is that pos-”

“Any time not spent in the field, you are too engrossed by _her_ to do anything else.”

Duck’s face hardens, “So that’s what this is really about.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” He lies. 

“You’ve been bothered by her since the start! You don’t think I notice that forced smile you get when she’s around, or the fact you leave the house when she comes over?”

“I get overstimulated when there is too much noise, you know that.” Indrid snaps back. 

“You hardly come out with us anymore, and you make it sound like she’s controlin me or some shit.”

“I, I do not. I just don’t enjoy when she barges in randomly.” He rubs his temples with his hands, trying to keep calm. 

“Christ, you really makin me choose between my best friend and the first girlfriend who’s made me feel this way? Why the fuck can’t you just be happy for me?”

“Because it should be me and not her!” Indrid spits out, hands dropping to the table and gaze meeting Duck’s own. 

Duck blinks back at him, “Really? _Really?_ You had a million goddamn chances to confess how you feel and you choose now?”

“I, I didn’t, I tried so hard to ignore it, but, fuck, I didn’t mean to say it now but since I did: I’ve been in love with you for years. And, and I just, after everything, we’ve been so close-”

“What, you think that what, because we’ve been friends since we were kids and you been pinin after me for however the fuck long, I should just date you? Like it’s destiny or some shit? What the fuck man?” He stands and Indrid mirrors him. 

“Do not put words in my mouth. I never wanted to interfere in your life, I never, you can’t possibly know how I feel!”

“Oh yeah? You think I’m really that fuckin oblivious? I suspected you felt some kind of way about me, and I gave you chances to show me I was right!”

“Name one.” Indrid growls, stepping closer.

“Homecomin, my eighteenth birthday, about a dozen times last year where I asked if you had your eye on anyone and you’d change the goddamn subject,” Duck counts out on his fingers, closing the remaining distance, “hell, coulda used those weird powers of yours to see what would happen if you told me.”

“I was too scared to. And if you were so observant, and apparently not opposed to the idea, why didn’t you make a move on me?”

“What do you think me kissin you on your birthday was?”

“A joke! Goodness, Duck, you know I’m not great with social cues. I didn’t think you’d ever care about me that way.”

“You think I’m that fuckin shallow?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” He growls. 

“So what was your end-game, huh? Just wait out everyone else, circle me like a fuckin vulture until I’d settle for you? Fuck, Minerva was right, you are creepy.”

Duck may as well have punched him. He sort of wishes he had. 

“Fuck. you. _Wayne_.” He hisses out, stepping around him and towards his room. 

“Nah, fuck _you_ , Indrid. Fuck you for makin me think you actually cared about me when all you were doin was bidin your goddamn time!”

“That’s not, no, nevermind. I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

Duck tosses back, “That’s as good as a confession in my book, you creepy, mothman lookin motherfucker,” and Indrid slams the door. 

There’s ten minutes of hurried, angry movement in the rest of the apartment, and then the front door bangs shut. 

He cycles through anger (at himself, at Duck, at these obnoxious powers for not helping him prevent the fight), hurt, and numb acceptance that he has blown his oldest, closest friendship to smithereens. 

When he finally calms down enough to think clearly he realizes that, if nothing else, he doesn’t want that to be the last conversation they have before Duck leaves. 

He faceplants onto his bed, pulls out his phone, and types.

_Indrid: I’m sorry for losing my temper, and for not telling you the truth sooner. Even though it would have been helpful if you’d been clearer in the past. Can we talk about this tomorrow, and try again?_

The answer is immediate.

_Duck: Staying with M until we leave. Don’t text me again unless the apartment is on fire._

He stares at the response, then slides the phone under his pillow, presses his face to the mattress, and lays there numbly until he falls asleep.

——————————————————

“Nope, you are not having a sad hook-up on my watch.” Barclay’s tone freezes Indrid in place, and he slumps back down into the booth at the bar. 

Barclay is only a year ahead of him, but at times he reminds Indrid of a mother hen. A very, very large mother hen. 

“I cannot believe I allowed you to drag me out on Homecoming weekend.”

“Indrid, you’ve been miserable for almost two months, and I’m honestly really worried about you. Plus, this place has super cheap, real good appetizers.”

“Thank you for not saying ‘apps.’’ Indrid sips his soda.

“That word is an abomination. And you’re avoiding the actual topic.”

“I destroyed my best friend’s trust in me, and am wallowing here while he cavorts in the rainforest with his girlfriend. I’ll survive, but there’s no rule that says I have to enjoy it.”

Barclay sighs, “Look, if I give you permission to be miserable while you do it, will you come to trivia night with me, Joe, and Jake? Dani’s usually out fourth, but she’s helping Aubrey get her magic show up and ready to open.”

Indrid blows a strand of hair from his face (the black patches are getting worse, he needs to dye it again), “I can mope as much as I want?”

“You can cry into your beer for all I care, as long as you let me buy it.”

Trivia night turns out to be much better than anticipated, though Joe, Barclay’s boyfriend, is terrifying to behold in a battle of information.

Movie goes better, game night even better still, and soon Indrid is hanging out with the others more days than not. He even helps Aubrey design and draw up some last minute posters for her show. 

It’s the morning after opening night (and the following celebration) that his phone alerts him to a new email. The subject simply says “Bug.”

It’s from Duck. 

All it contains is a photo, clearly taken at night on a phone, of a moth with bright pink wings and red eyespots. 

He types, _Neat!_ Then, after a moment, adds _What species?_

He doesn’t expect a response. But the next day, another email awaits him.

_Dr. Graslie (Entomologist here) thinks it’s Leucanella apollinairei. Here’s someone more familiar_

This picture is of a small crustacean. Indrid smiles; it’s a crawdad. 

He replies _Careful, maybe it followed you all the way from Kepler. Seen anything else interesting?_

This time he waits two days for a response, but it opens with, _sorry, internet is real spotty. Big shock, I know._

This is followed by two paragraphs describing trees. Indrid has never been so happy to hear about root systems. 

Soon Duck is emailing him whenever he can. At first, it’s only about the wildlife, the field work he’s doing, and the terror of trying to practice hygiene in the middle of a rainforest. Slowly, other details appear; the things he’s homesick for, the ways in which he and Minerva are starting to grate at each other ( _you’d think being in the middle of nowhere’d get you some peace and quiet. Nope_ ). 

Indrid responds with updates from school, pictures of the outings he and the others go on, news about the promo art several places in town have hired him to do after seeing the posters for Aubrey’s act. Says he hopes Minerva and Duck are able to work things out. 

Winter break comes sooner than seems possible, and he assumes the next time he sees Duck will be when they’re home visiting their folks. 

Which is why, when he’s sitting at home reading after his last final, the door opening alarms him (Dani has already moved out). That is, until he glimpses the future.

“Duck?” He calls softly.

His friend appears in the doorway, luggage left behind him in the entryway. 

“Hey, ‘Drid.”

“I, ah, assumed you’d be staying with Minerva until you could officially move out.”

Duck shakes his head, “I ain’t movin anywhere. Unless you want me to.”

“No.” Indrid fidgets with the agate, tucked safely in the pocket of his sweatpants. 

“We, uh, we broke up. Minerva and me. It was, uh, mutual, though she was the one to pull the trigger, so to speak. Just found there were some things we didn’t agree on. Weren’t compatible on neither.”

“I’m sorry.”

Duck snorts what’s almost a laugh.

“I mean it.” He stands, voices earnest and gentle, “I know you were happy with her, and the relationship meant a lot to you.”

“Yeah” Duck sounds tired, “It did. But it turns out another one meant more.”

Indrid stops moving. Also, possibly, breathing. 

“I…well, I sent you that first email instead of apologizin because I was still kinda hurt, but I realized I missed you. I didn’t want you gone from my life. And the longer I was gone, the more times I turned around wanting to tell you somethin and was sad you weren’t there, got excited at the thought of showin you somethin or sending you pictures, I realized I did plenty to fuck things up. And that’s before we get to the fact I was dreamin about you most nights.”

Duck steps awkwardly forward, until they’re toe to toe, “I missed you, ‘Drid. So fuckin much. And I’m sorry for the things I said durin the fight.”

“As am I. I ought to have thought how my confession would appear to you. I’m sorry I did not.”

“I guess, what I’m tryin to say is I feel like a real dipshit for havin to go halfway across the globe to realize what I really want.”

“And what do you want, Duck?”

Duck cups his cheeks, and then Indrid is tipping forward, into a kiss he’s dreamed of for years. His arms close around Duck’s shoulders, his lips taste chapstick and cold night air. He pulls away to breathe and gets only an instant to do so, Duck chasing his mouth for kiss after kiss, his eagerness sending them tripping onto the bed. 

Indrid lands on top of Duck, hears him whimper when his name leaves Indrid’s lips.

“‘Drid, ‘Drid, please-”

“Yes” He kisses his cheek, “whatever it is, the answer is yes.”

Duck giggles into his neck, “You got no idea how bad I wanna make a goof on that. But, fuck, ‘Drid, I can’t, all I want is you.”

“Likewise.” He purrs, hooking Ducks leg around his own, nuzzling up his neck before attacking his lips with kisses. 

“That, that a rock in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?” Duck tugs on his lower lip.

“Both. See?” He produces the agate, holds it where Duck can get a look at it.

“Holy shit, is that the one I gave you a million years ago?”

“Indeed. It became a sort of grounding object, because it was pleasant to touch and reminded me of you. Later it morphed into a sort of good luck charm.”

Duck closes Indrid’s fist around the rock and kisses it, grins, “There, now it’s twice as lucky.”

Indrid holds him close, basks in the love radiating from him as he murmurs, “It’s not the luckiest thing in the room, though. That honor, I believe, belongs to you and I.”


End file.
